


The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

by Sparks521075



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bisexuality, Blind Date, Bottom Louis, Bullying, Fluff and Angst, Football | Soccer, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay, Harry is kind of a dick, Homosexuality, I wrote this when I was 16, Implied Ziam, Jake from State Farm - Freeform, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Nerd Louis, Rainbows, Slapstick Humor, Slow Burn, Step-siblings, This Is STUPID, Top Harry, blowjob, handjob, harryloveslouis, highschool, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, louis is football captain, louis is kind of naive, louislovesharry, mark is a supportive but maybe too supportive father, niall and louis friendship, poor attempt at smut at the end, ziam only appears briefly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 99,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparks521075/pseuds/Sparks521075
Summary: Louis Tomlinson is your average stereotypical nerd. He likes to study and stay out of trouble - his only real sense of adventure being his role as team captain on his soccer team. There's one problem, though. Louis is openly gay and gets bullied for it on a daily basis. No one else knows, and he likes to keep it that way.Then, all of a sudden, his dad decides to marry the woman he loves, and she brings her teenage son, Harry, into his life. He's arrogant and cocky, and Louis wants nothing to do with him.But what will happen when Louis starts to recognize the undeniable attraction between the two. Will he be able to keep his morals or will he fall for his sexy, curly-haired stepbrother who might just possibly want to get in his pants too?++++This is also on Wattpad, under the user Sparks521075.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 51
Kudos: 111





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! I wanted to post this on another platform purely for more exposure. I do want to experiment with this app, as I have come to really enjoy the stories here, and I know many have reposted works from Wattpad here as well. So, I thought I would give it a try with my most successful novel.
> 
> Real talk though, my name is Lauren, and I am applying for veterinary school in the next few years. :) Larry Stylinson has given me a real passion for writing, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it. I am always available to talk, as a friend, and as a fellow writer, so do not hesitate to ask me anything.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think!
> 
> Best,  
> Sparks <3

"What do you want?" Louis asks, pushing the heavy door in. "It'll be my treat.

The aroma of pungent coffee beans and freshly baked goods fills the air, wrapping and weaving around him like a warm hug. It was comforting and familiar.

"Latte," the other boy decides without hesitation.

Louis' hand snaps up to clutch at his chest, mouth agape in disbelief. He can tell that the boy is holding back from his usual extreme eating excursions for his expense, and he appreciates it deeply. They both know that he would be nearly broke if he had to pay for everything that boy inhales.

"What?" Louis exclaims with an incredulous drawl. "Niall doesn't want food? Is the world ending?"

"Haha. Very funny, Lou." Niall rolls his clear blue eyes, hand slipping into his pant's pocket to pull out his smart phone. He clicks the power button and checks the time. Waving his phone, he motions to the large red booth in the corner of the café. "Just get my damn latte. I'll save us some seats."

"Sure," Louis grumbles as soon as he's out of ear shot. "Make Louis get the drinks. Ungrateful twat."

It's not that he hates talking to people . . . but he hates it. Social interaction just isn't his forte. He's awkward and quiet. So it really wasn't a surprise when he mumbles through the order, having to repeat himself on multiple occasions because the cashier "couldn't hear him". Though he believes the girl could hear him just fine by her smug smile. He resorts to keeping his scathing remarks to himself and snatching the cups from her hands with a stiff smile, walking steadily to the booth where Niall is perched.

"Here's your damn latte."

Louis places it carefully in front of him, watching through slitted blue eyes as he pockets his precious phone and brings the cup closer.

"Thanks, Lou."

Niall wraps his hands around the small cup, linking his fingers together and soaking up the warmth with a grin. There's an immediate mischievous twinkle to his eyes that Louis finds himself very suspicious of.

"So . . ." Niall draws out. "I heard someone is getting a new roommate."

Louis grimaces. "Please don't remind me."

He really doesn't want to be reminded of the fact that his new stepmom is moving in with her, more than likely, bratty teenage son. Sure, she is nice. She treats his dad well and all that, well as far as he knows. But he's only met the woman a couple of times now, and he's never even met her son. He doesn't know what to expect -whether he should be thrilled or terrified of the oncoming changes, and that worries him.

Niall furrows his eyebrows, running a hand through his dyed blonde quiff. "You said she has a son, right?" Louis nods stiffly, and he smirks. "So you're going to have a brother?"

"I really don't want to think about it, Ni. It's going to be awkward as all hell when they move in tonight."

"Oh, come on, Lou!" He blurts. "It'll be fun. I've always wanted a brother." He leans forward across the table, the corners of his mouth deepening in his smirk. "He might even be cute."

"Fucking hell, Ni! I'm not going to -"

A loud thud resonates through the small shop, cutting him off effectively. It comes from the direction of the front door, and when Louis looks up, there are three silhouettes standing in the doorway, the door pushed all the way to the wall.

"The fuck . . ." Niall whispers.

Holmes Chapel is a very small town. Everyone knows everyone here, and if you don't, you've at least seen them around here and there. But Louis finds he only manages to recognize two of the boys that stand in the doorway. There is obviously Liam Payne and Zayn Malik, who he knows as the "rebellious bad-boys" from school with their perfectly styled quiffs and jean jackets that make the girls swoon. The third, though . . . is a mystery.

Louis doesn't give it much thought, just vaguely glances over his tall frame. He's certainly just as good-looking as Zayn and Liam, maybe more so, and is dressed nearly identical to them as if they're part of a gang or something. His long legs are clad in extremely tight black skinny jeans, his hair messily swept back into a mop of curls - a white and blue printed bandana keeping a majority of the brown hair out of his face, and his torso dressed in a white t-shirt with a red flannel and a ratty jean jacket tossed on top.

He looks like someone who just stepped out of a teen heartthrob magazine, and Louis rolls his eyes, turning his gaze back to Niall. He has no interest with associating with pretty people. They are almost always full of themselves and only care about materialistic things like appearance. At least, that's been his experience with them.

Niall's eyes are narrowed - trained on the figure as he saunters to the front counter with his large hands stuffed in his pockets. "Who the hell is that?" He questions, raising the cup to his lips and staring over the rim at the model.

Louis shrugs indifferently. "No clue, mate. I've never seen him before."

Niall purses his lips, eyes scouring the boy with an almost hungry expression. Louis raises his eyebrows. "He must be new then. I definitely would've remembered seeing him before. He's fucking gorgeous."

Louis' elbow jerks off the table in surprise, and he ends up flinging half of his latte onto his cream-colored sweater. It is still rather scalding, heating his skin painfully as it soaks through the material and turns the front to a disturbing puke-like color.

"Shit," he hisses.

Niall's head whirls to face him. Looking him up and down, he puts a fist to his mouth to try and mute the snort-like laughter that bubbles up from his throat. "You've got a little -"

"Shut the fuck up, Ni," he snaps. He searches the table for a good couple of seconds before coming to the conclusion that the only napkins are up by the coffee bar. That means having to walk past the models. Grumbling profanities, Louis slips out of the booth. "I'm going to get a napkin."

"Good call."

Louis nudges the bridge of his black stereotypical nerd glasses up his nose before shooting him a glimpse of his middle finger. "You just watch it, Blondie. Or next time I'm dumping it on you."

The boys who had come in earlier were goofing off by the coffee bar - not really all that surprising knowing them. Trouble is what they are known for. It would be a cause for celebration if they weren't. He's pretty sure half the town would participate in those festivities.

Each of the boys have a handful of sugar packets, and they seem to be having an all-out sugar war by pelting the paper packets at each other and trailing sweet crystals all over the floor without the cashier's knowledge. Louis feels bad for the poor sap who has to clean that up.

He avoids them as much as humanly possible, keeping to the far end of the bar by the tables and only taking another step to snatch a napkin from the dispenser. With a scowl, he lifts the hem of his sweater. The stain, unfortunately, still stands prominently against the color of his shirt no matter how hard he scrubs. So he gives up after cleansing most of it, wadding up the used napkin and tossing it in the basket a few feet away with an irritated sigh. He doesn't even know why he reacted like he did. Obviously the boy was attractive. There's no denying that fact. Maybe it was just the fact that the usually non-romantically involved Niall so openly admitted it.

Nudging his glasses up, Louis glances to his right to see large eyes peering at him from across the table. White dust swirls around the figure as his friends continue to toss around the sweet substance. The curly-haired boy either doesn't care or doesn't notice when a few land in his hair. His eyes are instead fixated on Louis' bright blue ones, and something about the intensity of his stare causes goosebumps to rise on the arms hidden by his sleeves.

The boy's mouth slowly curls into a dazzling grin, a small, crescent shaped indent appearing on his right cheek. Long, chocolate-colored eyelashes brush the top of his cheekbones as he looks down at something on Louis' face and then flicker as he glances back up to reveal stunning emerald irises.

A packet suddenly hurtles through the air, colliding with the boy's temple. His plump, heart-shaped lips part in shock, hand raising to touch the area.

"Oi, Harry! Who are you looking at?"

Curly's smile fades, transforming into a scowl that doesn't make him look the least bit viscious before letting his green orbs drift from Louis' to the floor. He snags the sugar off the tile and chucks it back at his snickering friends. Louis takes this opportunity to make a break for it, ducking his head down and speed-walking back to his little safe haven in the corner. Niall pushes his now empty cup to the side as Louis comes back, jerking his head towards the unmentionables.

"Why was curly boy over there staring at you?"

"Hm," Louis says, sliding onto the seat. "Probably because I have a coffee stain covering half of my torso. Most people would find that a little strange."

Niall licks his lips slowly and leans forward, eyes darkening in suspicion. "I don't think he was staring at your stain, Lou," he mutters lowly. "He barely even looked at your shirt except for when you flashed him your waistline."

Louis' heart seems to beat just a little faster. "Are you insinuating that he was checking me out?"

"I don't think he was doing it on purpose, but yeah, I do."

"I think you're delusional," Louis concludes with a frown. "I don't have a shot with anyone. Especially him."

"Then why does he keep looking at you?" Niall retorts.

"What?"

Louis' cover of disinterest is blown when he whips his head to glance over his shoulder. The boy's head turns at the same time and their eyes lock. His gaze is just as intense as before, and Louis feels something dangerous stir in the very pit of his stomach. Louis quickly looks away, and Niall snickers, reaching over to pinch his heated cheek.

"Aw. Louis has a crush."

Louis scowls, shoving his hands away. "I don't have a crush, you twat."

Niall turns his head to look towards the front door. Louis follows his example, tracking the tall frame as he exits the restaurant and retreats down the street, trailing Liam and Zayn like a lost puppy. He has to be new. This town is not hard to memorize. Louis just finds it strange how quick Liam and Zayn were to accept another member to their posse. He can't remember the last time that happened.

"Your new stepbrother just moved to town, didn't he?"

Where is he going with this? "Yeah, they lived in London. Why?" Niall chuckles, and Louis' eyes narrow. "What?"

"Wouldn't it be funny if he was your stepbrother?"

Louis frowns. "I would jump off a bridge . . . and drag you down with me for jinxing me."

You see, Louis didn't know then.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stepbro, What are you doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to try and update this regularly! 
> 
> Hope all is well,  
> Sparks <3

"When are they coming over?"

Louis hops off the last step of the stairs and runs, skidding on his socked feet into the kitchen. His breathing is ragged and labored from the effort of sprinting across the house and getting dressed in tight skinny jeans and a black v-neck as fast as humanly possible.

He had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch mere hours ago, lulled into unconsciousness by a late study session last night and the overwhelming anxiety of having a new family. His home is his sanctuary from the outside world. It's just him and his dad. But, now, even his home is being invaded. And he woke up to the sound of his dad bustling around in the kitchen, clanking pots and mumbling to himself in preparation for their arrival.

Louis' dad checks his watch briefly, rolling up the sleeve. "They should be here any minute." Fucking hell.

He nods curtly, leaning back against the counter. A feeling of discomfort squeezes his stomach. How his dad thinks that only a few days warning about their new residents is okay is beyond him. It seems like just yesterday his dad was announcing he had gotten a girlfriend. He's happy for him, he really is, but, fuck. Some more warning would have been great.

"Oh, Lou. Could you do me a favor and bring down the mattress from the attic? The bed frame is already set up so you just have to toss it on. I would do it myself, but someone needs to watch the spaghetti. And no one wants you to be in charge of their food." He waves the wooden spoon in Louis' direction to emphasize his point.

Fair enough.

"Sure, dad." He reaches around his shoulder to thieve a grape from the bowl by the stove. His dad frowns, smacking the back of his hand with the spoon. Louis simply grins innocently and pops it in his mouth before fleeing the scene.

Louis trots up the stairs to the trap door to the attic. He stands on his tip-toes, cursing his height, to yank the cord down so that the ladder slips out. Hiking up the cold rungs, he hears the chime of the doorbell and the soft murmur of voices drifting through the hallway. He huffs and hauls himself up onto the floor.

And so begins Louis' personal hell.

The mattress is not hard to find with its towering height. It's in the very back corner of the cramped space by the stacks of boxes filled to the brim with old photos and dusty Christmas decorations that had long since been forgotten about.

Uprooting the mattress, he finds it's a lot heavier than it looks, and he stumbles a little with an "Oof" when he clears it up and over his head. The muscles in his biceps bulge and tremble slightly under the strain of the additional weight. He really needs to work out more. Staggering, he manages to slide the mattress down the ladder. He watches as it hits the carpet with a muted thud and falls backward. He jumps from the edge of the door, landing kind of awkwardly onto the mattress, but he simply pops back up and hauls the huge thing back over his head.

To say the descent down the stairs is uncomfortable would be an understatement. He has to shuffle down each step and concentrate on not falling the entire trip. Finally, he reaches the door to the guest bedroom with a relieved sigh. But glancing into the room makes his entire body freeze, the mattress still cocked precariously over his head.

"Oh, hello."

Louis recognizes the tall frame instantly. He has the same headband from this morning still wrapped around his curls, but has shed his extra layers so he is simply clad in black skinny jeans and a thin, white t-shirt. 

He doesn't want to admit the fact that he still looks extremely attractive, especially with the black ink of his tattoos exposed on his upper arms that he hadn't seen at the coffee shop, but he would be lying if he says that he doesn't let his gaze indulge in the sight for a little bit. He finds the silver chain at the back of his neck to be especially interesting to his wandering eyes. He can't say he knows a lot of guys who can pull off jewelry, but apparently his new stepbrother can.

The boy is hovering over a suitcase stuffed with clothing and various undergarments when Louis comes in. He turns his neck to look at him blankly. There is a faint spark of recognition in the boy's eyes, but he squelches it, clearly not interested in initiating a conversation.

"Oh, it's coffee boy."

His voice, when he finally does speak, is rather low, and Louis finds that it doesn't really seem to quite fit his boyish features. It has almost a husky rasp to it, and he drawls out each word slowly and carefully in his British accent like he's speaking to someone he finds inferior. But Louis tries not to find offense in it. Part of it seems to just be the natural lit to his voice, and though he doesn't want to confess it, it's oddly captivating to listen to. It does sound mildly disappointed though.

Harry, Louis thinks is his name, briefly lets his green eyes scan over him, scouring over the tattoos that decorate Louis' arms, stopping at the mattress above his head and then flicking back to his biceps. He rolls them and goes back to whatever he is sorting without a word.

Louis decides to ignore the cold behavior, suspecting that he isn't any more thrilled than he is about this new arrangement and enters his room. Louis swings the mattress down and lays it on the bed frame. His joints crack loudly as he releases it, and he lets a small grunt escape his lips, finally feeling the tight tension in his shoulders dissipate.

The boy glances at Louis for a microsecond - just a flutter of his eyelashes really, and that's all the acknowledgement he gives him. No "thank you" or "hello" comes from his lips, and Louis fumes a little on the inside. Damn pretty boys.

Rolling his shoulders back, Louis stretches out his stiff back and fixes his glasses. "The least you could do is say thank you, you know." Harry doesn't even flinch. "I nearly broke my back trying to get that for you."

"I didn't ask you to get that for me."

"Next time you can get it yourself then, cocky."

Harry shoves his suitcase closed and kicks it across the room. He apparently has no regard for the wood floor of his new bedroom either. And Louis thanks the Gods above that they don't have to share a room. He has a pair of briefs held tightly in a vise-like grip in his considerably large hand, and he waves them vaguely at Louis like he's scolding him.

Louis decides it's best if he doesn't look directly at the sizeable underwear - instead finding purchase on a freckle below Harry's eye.

"Look, Lewis, or whatever the hell your name is -"

"It's Louis."

"Whatever." The boy's eyes dart to the window of his new room, gazing out at the dark overcast that covers the sky, and they turn a light green-gray against the natural light streaming in. "I don't want to be here in this shithole of a small town where it rains six times a week and the people don't know what personal boundaries are when I could be back with my friends in London." He looks at Louis, and it's something close to mesmerizing the way his pupils dilate back - vibrant green replacing the gray. "And I certainly don't want a fucking stepbrother."

"You think I do?" Louis asks incredulously.

That boy has some nerve to say that Louis and his dad are the ones ruining his life. Louis hasn't done a single thing to give him a reason to hate living here yet. If anyone is ruining someone's life, it would be that Harry is ruining his.

"I barely even know your name and now you're moving into my house. The only reason I'm putting up with this bullshit is because your mom makes my dad happy, okay? I tried to be nice to you, but clearly you insist on acting like some kind of toddler. I don't care if you don't want to be here because I don't want you here either. So kindly stop your whining and stay the fuck out of my way. Got that, pretty boy?"

Harry snorts. Whether that's at the entire comment Louis made or a resentment to his new nickname, Louis doesn't know.

"No problem, Shorty. I don't want to associate with you either. You'll kill my chances of making friends anyway."

Louis feels his hands curl into fists. He despises being called short. Hates it. It's not his fault he's not vertically gifted like Harry, but for some reason, that gives people all the more reason to pick on him. They don't seem to understand that it might actually hurt his feelings.

But he knows that Harry is just testing his patience. He's trying to get Louis to bow down more than he actually cares about wounding him. He wants to be the alpha sibling. Louis can see it in the smug twinkle in his eye and the small twitch at the corner of his delectable mouth. Plus, he doesn't plan on spending anymore time in his presence than necessary.

So instead of punching Harry in his perfect face like he wants to, he takes a deep, stabilizing breath and calmly folds his hands behind his back. The steadiness of his voice shocks him when it comes out.

"Of course," Louis drawls, only a small part of it oozing sarcasm. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"

Harry's face falls. There's a slight frustrated pucker to his eyebrow and a pout to his lips at Louis' lack of reaction, but it quickly disappears. He walks to the other side of his room and opens the drawer to his dresser violently, carelessly tossing the undergarments in.

"Whatever."

Louis rolls his eyes at his dramatic attitude. It may seem like he doesn't give a shit, but clearly he does. Otherwise he wouldn't be throwing a tantrum. "I'll be in my room. Please hesitate to ask if you need anything."

He spins on his heel, not waiting for a response. However, he freezes as something else comes to mind. "Oh, and if you come into my room without knocking, I will break your neck. Kapeesh?"

"Why? What exactly are you going to be doing in that room of yours?"

There's a definite smirk slurring his voice - and he's not sure exactly what he's insinuating, but he doesn't want to know. It's probably something sexual based on the way his eyes burn accusingly into his back.

"Just don't do it," he growls.

He sprints up the stairs, not caring that he's stomping loudly. His father gives a soft yell of disapproval from some far away part of the house. Louis ignores it and throws open his bedroom door. He heads straight for his bed and shoves his hands under the sheets, rooting through the material for the thing he's missing.

Louis' fingers brush something hard and cold. "Ah ha!" He quickly yanks it out of its hiding place and opens the lock screen, pulling up Niall's contact.

To Niall: Grab your jacket, Ni. We have a bridge to jump off of.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's too sexy for his own good, but it's hard to admit you might have the hots for your new brother. Football might just be the thing to bring them together ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINALLY ABOVE 0 F. Hallelujah! I can go outside again! After two freakin' weeks of dangerous wind chill. Thanks, Iowa. I love you so, so much.
> 
> I hope for whoever else out there is facing the polar vortex, things are looking up.
> 
> And for those outside of America who care to ask: "America, are you good?" The answer is no.

The sound of scraping of graphite against paper fills the room as Louis writes the final formula in his chemistry notebook. To him, it isn't hard to recognize how ions bond together and form compounds. It isn't hard to recognize that their charges should balance and cancel each other out. And maybe that makes him a nerd . . . but Louis can't find himself to care. He's good at school, sure. He can even confess that he likes school. It's not in the traditional sort of sense though.

Because, if you ask Louis, school is his escape. Escape from this, as Harry so kindly put, shithole of a town. The weather is horrible and most of the people even more so. All Louis wants to do is make sure he does well in his classes, get plenty of scholarships, and move to London. He'll figure out what to do from that point on later.

Louis shoves his notebook into his book bag with a heavy sigh just as his new step mom voice echoes through the hallway, summoning them down for dinner. Brilliant timing. He hops off the bed and picks his way downstairs.

He's still not entirely sure how he feels about having another teenager occupy his house. It's hard to say after only a couple of hours really. But other than the rude greeting, it's been very quiet. He doesn't know what he was expecting - loud music or stomping perhaps?

That's a far from accurate description for what actually happened the past few hours. Louis' pretty sure he even forgot that the curly-haired boy is even here for a while. And that might have been more shocking than his arrival. Maybe he was too quick to judge. Maybe having a stepbrother won't actually be that bad. After all, he can just hide in his room if he doesn't want to be near him.

But as Louis locks eyes with his new stepbrother and his stomach gives a swoop of something frighteningly similar to desire, he can't help but believe he might need to stay away for an entirely different reason than peace and quiet. If the fact that despite Harry's arrogant attitude, he still finds some kind of thrill by being in his presence isn't worrying, then he doesn't know what is. Louis gives his arm a sharp pinch in the hope that he can dismiss the feeling. It seems to work.

Louis slides into his chair at the oak table without a word, Harry following his example at the other end. Good. The further away he stays, the better.

His step mom smiles warmly at him. "Louis! It's good to see you again!" She comes around the table with a plate of freshly cooked spaghetti in her slim hand and places it in front of him, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze as she reaches over. Louis hopes she doesn't notice the way he stiffens. "How is football going?"

Harry, who is poking at his food - not that Louis is watching - suddenly sits up a little straighter. His topaz eyes focus on Louis' face so steadily that his skin seemingly combusts under the attention. It doesn't cause the familiar flip of his stomach, but it gets under his skin in a way he can't explain. Exposed is the best way he can describe it. He feels Harry can see right through him. And it's fucking unnerving.

"Hey, Anne." Louis swallows his uneasiness, tenderly picking up his fork. "Uh . . . it's going well, I think. We got a new recruit from Brookside a month or so ago, and he's already showing signs of potential. I think he'll be a valuable asset for us." Harry's eyelashes flutter. "Oh, and we beat Yorkshire yesterday, so we are heading to the semis in two weeks."

"Wow," she exclaims, eyebrows raising in surprise. "You must be a pretty good captain then, huh?"

Louis shrugs, observing Harry from the corner of his vision. He stabs his pile of noodles aggressively and twirls his wrist so that it snuggles around the silver utensil. He does it skillfully and with ease, bringing it up to wrap his lips around it, his tongue sticking out slightly to bring it in. There's almost something teasing about the way he does it. When Louis' lips part, Harry's eyes sparkle, and Louis knows he's doing it on purpose.

"Y-yeah, I guess." Louis quickly averts his eyes to his barely touched plate, taking his own bite. He is sure that it tastes wonderful, but with Harry's deliberate staring, it's bland and tasteless in his dry mouth. He's always been a terrible liar. "I, uh, do what I can."

A strong hand smacks Louis on the shoulder out of nowhere, and he jumps. "C'mon, Lou," comes his father's voice from behind him. "Don't be so modest! Louis here has led his school to, soon to be, two championships and is one of the best high-school midfielders in England."

Louis groans internally. His dad is bringing way too much attention to him, and he knows if they keep asking questions, he'll slip up. He watches as his "parents" settle down at the table.

"That's fantastic, Louis!" Anne chirps. She turns her gaze to cast a meaningful glance at her son. Harry lowers his fork, and he suddenly looks a little scared. "Did you know that Harry plays football as well?" Harry's face falls back into expressionless as the threat passes. He briefly lets his eyes flicker to Louis' before looking back down at his food. Then his whole demeanor lights up.

"Does he?" Louis muses suspiciously. "That's cool."

Harry lowers his fork. "You know what? That is cool." A grin barges its way onto his face, and somehow Louis is the only one who sees the devilish twist to it. "Maybe I should try out for the team."

Louis' heart stops, plummeting into his stomach with dread.

"Then I can bond with my new brother doing something we both love. Wouldn't that be great? I could even ask Louis to show me some moves since he's captain and all." There is so much sarcasm oozing off of Harry at this point, that the air seems pungent with it. Like if Louis picks up his knife, he can cut it into pieces. His sickeningly-sweet tone is enough to make his blood boil in unkempt resentment.

"What a lovely suggestion, Haz!" His smug smile falters at the embarrassing nickname, and Louis snickers. "What do you say, Louis? Are there any open positions for recruits?"

Louis wants to deny that they have room - anything to keep Harry away, but, unfortunately, his coach is looking for an extra defensive sub. He would be a idiot to turn down anyone willing to try out without assessing their abilities first. So he smiles tightly instead.

"I think we could make an arrangement for an audition for good ole Haz here," he replies.

Harry responds with a murderous look that says: "Don't you fucking dare call me that or your team won't be the only thing rearranged" and a clench of his jaw. Louis grins. He's so calling him that. Harry narrows his eyes and wipes his mouth on his napkin. He has an irritated pucker to his eyebrows.

"May I be excused?" Harry asks. With a nod of approval from his mom, he's scraping his chair backwards and up within milliseconds.

Louis drops his fork onto his plate with a clank and stands. "I'm done too."

He snatches his dirty dishes and wanders into the kitchen, passing Harry on the way out. But the curly-haired boy doesn't acknowledge his presence, simply knocking his shoulder into his and leaving a faint cloud of cologne in his wake. Louis' able to note the muscle definition of his shoulder and the sparks that flow between them even through clothing. The fact that he so easily picks up on these things makes him want to throw his plate against the wall so it shatters into a million pieces. He settles for angrily dumping his dish in the sink. He hates the way Harry has already managed to get in his head. It's dangerous and unpredictable. Feelings you definitely shouldn't be having about your stepbrother.

Louis exhales heavily and wills his feet to carry him to the living room. Maybe some television will help get his head on straight. It's strange. He's never really been attracted to someone else before. Girls aren't really his thing, and most of the guys his age are reckless and idiotic. Harry's probably just as reckless based on his earlier experience with him, and that confuses him. How is he any different? Other than the fact that he's significantly more attractive than the entire population of this town.

Walking into the living room, he feels another rush of annoyance towards his new stepbrother. He has his large, putrid, socked feet propped up on the coffee table, and the remote clutched in the arm that's lazily held up and pointed at the television. Great. So much for watching what he wants to.

"Hey, pretty boy," he barks. Louis waits for him to look up and gestures to his position on the corner cushion on the couch. "You're in my spot."

"So?"

"So . . . scootch over."

He waves the remote to his right. "Just sit there."

"No, no, no," he growls. "I can't just sit there. That, where your fucking fatarse is, is my spot. No one else sits there."

His face contorts as if he finds Louis to be the most peculiar specimen on Earth. Like he doesn't have fucking flaws too. But . . . come to think of it, Louis really can't think of any flaws. "What's the big deal?"

"The deal is that you're sitting in my bloody seat!"

"What's wrong with that one?"

"I don't sit there."

Harry snickers, wiggling his butt on the cushion. "That's too fucking bad then. I guess you'll have to stand."

Louis' eyes flash and before he knows what is happening, his hip is pressed against his stepbrother's and his heels are digging into the carpet, using his lower body strength in attempt to bulldoze him to the side. A squeak of surprise escapes Harry's lips, and he shoves his own feet down to hold his place.

"Move," he snarls.

"No, you fucking lunatic."

He's not crazy, he's orderly. There's a difference. He claimed that spot as his when he first got here, and, to him, it's his prime spot for relaxing. It's directly in front of the TV and facing away from the kitchen so he can turn up the volume and pretend to be alone. It's his. And Harry can't have it when he's already taken everything else.

Louis twists away a little before ramming the side of his hip into Harry's. He grunts and lets his foothold slip a little, allowing Louis to thrust his bum onto the exposed cushion.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" His emerald eyes burn with an overwhelming amount of resentment and irritation. They are like tiny fires burning around his dark pupils. He appears completely baffled by Louis' decision to actually shove him off of the cushion so he can steal it.

"Nothing."

Harry releases a soft, threatening growl that would've been kind of hot in any other circumstance, but that's quickly kicked from his mind as Harry lunges at him, knocking him onto his side. Anne emerges from the kitchen then, observing in utter befuddlement as her new stepsons wrestle harshly on the couch, Louis kneeing the boy under him where the sun doesn't shine.

She sighs in exasperation as Harry groans in pain. "Boys!"


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thanks, Brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As soon as I declare I’m going to post everyday, I fall asleep and forget. Figures. I’ll post another one later today to make up for it.

The sound of thin, small fingers drumming against the black steering wheel fills the silence of the car, gradually becoming more and more annoying and distracting as the anxiety builds in his stomach. Eventually it becomes enough that he has the inescapable urge to reach out and tweak the knob to the radio, turning it up to an audible murmur in the background. Where the fuck is he?

He growls when the tall, lean mop of curls finally bounds out the front door and slides into the passenger side of his car. Does it really take him this long to get ready? This is absurd. If he insists on taking this long, he's going to make him walk from now on.

"Took you long enough," he snarls darkly, shifting gears harshly to back out of the driveway. "I was going to just leave you and make you walk to school."

Harry rolls his gorgeous eyes, flipping down the visor. Louis has to refrain from rolling his own eyes when he opens the mirror to fluff up his hair again. Did he not just do that in the bathroom for thirty fucking minutes? What could he possibly be fixing now? His hair is already perfect. Well, better than Louis' messy fringe anyway. But, to be fair, Louis didn't spend thirty minutes on his hair.

Louis exhales heavily. He doesn't understand why his dad thought it'd be a good idea to drive his new stepbrother to school. He's obnoxious and acts like the very stereotype of a rich, spoiled brat. Now don't get him wrong, Harry's family does have money, but not as much as he would make you believe. And he knows very fucking well that they get along about as well as a cat and a dog fighting over meat scraps. So Louis really has no idea what was going through his mind when he forced Louis to agree to the arrangement. At least it's a fairly short ride.

The visor in the corner of his vision is flipped up to hit the ceiling. He briefly lets his gaze flit over to the passenger side. Harry pulls the sunglasses from where they hung on the collar of his white t-shirt and places them on his nose. He may act like the stereotypical, obnoxious rich jerk, but, damn, he makes it look good.

Louis turns his gaze back to the road, running his finger over the steering wheel and tapping his thumb to the rhythm of the music in the background. Maybe it's just him, but the awkwardness seems to be suffocating him. It's hard to say what Harry is feeling with those dark lenses shading his eyes. He's just sitting there quietly, every now and then reaching up to scratch under his eye. It's bizarre. He expected more of a fight from him.

After a couple of minutes, Harry reaches out, nose scrunching, and turns the knob that controls the radio station. Louis ignores it, not really caring. He wasn't really listening to the radio anyway.

But then Harry would pick a station, turn up the music, sit back, and then he'd reach out and change it again. This went on for several minutes. Annoyance builds in the pit of Louis' stomach, his knuckles turning white. He manages to stay silent for a little while before he can't take it anymore.

"Pick one!" he snaps irritably.

Harry snorts, turning it once more just to spite him. "What's stuck up your arse?" His voice is slightly gruffer than he remembers, low from the lack of use since yesterday.

"The fact that I have quite possibly the most annoying step-brother in existence," he retorts hotly. Thankfully, the high school comes into sight then, and Louis turns the wheel sharply to pull into the parking lot.

The right side of his mouth twitches up in a smirk so that that damned crescent indent pops on his cheek. He ruffles his curls cockily, darting a tongue out to lick over his bottom lip. "Your stepbrother is up your arse?"

Louis growls. "Not like that, you fucking pervert."

Harry just hums lowly in response, a grin slowly replacing his smirk. Louis quickly averts his eyes to swing into an empty parking spot. He really needs to convince his step mom to get Harry his own car or he's going to crash into something just to get Harry to shut up.

"We're here. Now, get the fuck out of my car, you twat."

The fashionable sunglasses are nudged up his nose before he grabs a hold of his bag and swings his long legs out to clamber ungracefully from his car. Louis snickers under his breath as he easily climbs out of the vehicle. The advantage of being short, ladies and gentlemen.

He pretends that struggle didn't affect his swagger, whipping the strap of his bag over his shoulder. And it seems to work. People walking past turn their gazes to whisper and watch as the new boy leans against the side of Louis' car, waiting for Louis to grab his bag from the back and join him at his side. Great. He's going to be another one of those popular people.

They don't say a word to each other. Harry's apparently content with just keeping an indifferent face and following Louis to the office. Louis' not complaining. He knows that as soon as Harry gets his schedule, he's going to disappear and ignore him completely.

As expected, as soon as the piece of paper is handed to the curly-haired boy, he makes for the door with his long legs. The receptionist stops him though, causing him to halt with his hand on the knob. Louis notices for the first time that he's not wearing rings today, and his fingers look extra long.

"Young man, please take off your sunglasses. We're indoors, and they are against our school's dress code."

He slowly reaches up to pull them off his face, and Louis figures he's probably rolling his eyes behind the lenses. He inserts one limb into his shirt so that it rests against his chest like it was this morning. Raising an eyebrow, his hand finds the doorknob again as if asking if he can leave now.

She seems surprised by the sudden exposure of his attractiveness, and she fumbles with the papers on the desk to give Louis a copy. Louis contemplates the thinking behind hiring a twenty year old secretary to run the front desk at a high school, but he takes it from her hands anyway. "Thanks."

"Louis, right?" she asks, eyes darting away from his stepbrother to address him for a second. "Would you show Harry around? He'll probably need some help finding his classes?"

Harry rolls his eyes for real now, groaning in distaste. Louis' not too happy about it either, but he has the decency to keep his protests to himself. And since he's a people pleaser, especially to authority, he smiles tightly and accepts the offer, trying to ignore the pink that flowers up the young girl's neck at his stepbrother's outburst. That's wrong on so many levels.

He rustles the paper with a large exhale and adjusts the strap of his backpack as it becomes heavy. "Let's get this over with."

It takes less than two seconds before Harry is able to throw the door open and drift down the hallway, barely even glancing at his schedule. Louis walks considerably slower, taking a good look at the room number. 305. Let's see. He thinks that'd be down the left wing . . . He looks up and, surprisingly, Harry's already striding that way, his paper down by his side. Louis huffs and jogs after him.

"Do you even know where you're going?"

"I'm going to choir."

Choir? That means he sings, doesn't it? Not that that's really all that surprising considering his deep, enthralling voice. He'd probably make a damn good singer. "You sing?"

"Obviously," he barks as if it's written across his forehead. "If you look, you'll see that I'm actually in advanced choir."

"Jesus, you don't have to be so snippy. It was just a simple question." Maybe he's the one who really has something stuck up his arse. There's no way he could've known that he's a singer unless he has heard him sing before, so he really doesn't know why Harry expects him to just know that about him.

Harry doesn't acknowledge his pleas for a truce, keeping his elongated stride that has Louis half-jogging, half-walking to catch up. The hallways are empty, telling Louis that he's probably already late for first block. Maybe he should just let him find his way. He seems to know where he's going, and Louis' really only breaking a sweat trying to follow him like a puppy. But then Harry slows, eyebrows furrowing as he brings his schedule back up to look at it, and Louis glances at the room number he stopped in front of. 320.

"What the -?"

Louis snorts at his puzzled expression. "There are two hallways, genius." Louis spins on his heel, confident now that he knows approximately where the room is.

He can't say he's ever been down this way before. His main schedule consists of more science and math-like classes which are clear on the other side of the school. This hall is mainly art related courses like art and music. He's not really any good at drawing or singing, so he's stayed away from those kinds of classes.

"Why didn't you say something?" he hisses sharply. "You know, before I walked down the whole length of this hall!"

"I don't take these classes. So I really don't know where I'm going anymore than you do. I just know that we have two hallways for each section."

As soon as Louis turns the corner to the second hallway, Harry is practically right beside him, bumping repeatedly into his shoulder. He can see the number 305 written on the plague by the door at the very beginning of the hallway, and he sighs in relief. Thank God. Louis slows to let Harry pass him, folding the paper up and swinging his backpack down to shove it in a side pocket.

"Great, you found it," he drawls sarcastically. He tosses the strap back on his shoulder, surprised to find that Harry is actually looking down at him. "I'm leaving now."

Louis swivels on his heel and starts towards his chemistry classroom, hoping his teacher won't grill him for being late. He probably has a valid enough excuse for arriving after the bell, but this is his first offense so he's not entirely sure what will happen.

"Thanks, brother."

He glances over his shoulder, easing to a slow shuffle forward. Harry's leaning against the wall by the door, making no move to open the door. His topaz gaze travels down his front then back up, heart-shaped lips curled in a lazy smirk. Louis' throat twitches in a swallow, but he keeps walking as he knows Harry's trying to get on his nerves again.

"Get to class, Styles."

He hears the faint click of the door handle as he continues his journey. However, the creak of the door stops with a small thud, and Louis can't help but look back once more. One of his large converse is shoved against the door of the room, holding it open, and he grins cheekily, ruffling his curls in a way that seems almost flirtatious.

"Hey, Shorty," he calls. "I'll see you after class."

That makes Louis halt. "What? No. I thought your mum was taking you home after school."

"Oh, didn't you hear? I'm trying out for the football team after school."

Dammit. He forgot that his new mum wanted them to play together. Shit, he can't ever escape him. He might actually be excited to go to class just so he can have time away from him.

"Just be ready as soon as practice is over, or I'm leaving without you," is all he says as he turns and makes a break for his chemistry class.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, we practice for semis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is kicking my ass right now

Louis tugs the end of his white practice jersey down over the top of his torso, the coolness of the material raising goosebumps on his arms even through his underarmor. Jeez. It's even cold in the locker room today. Either someone forgot to turn on the heater in this school or it's fucking freezing outside. He really hopes it's the former, or this practice is going to be hell.

He reaches back inside the small locker and pulls out his long black socks and bright orange shin guards. After setting those on the bench, he grabs his cleats and shuts the door with a loud slam.  
It's not that he hates the idea of his stepbrother joining the team . . . He just has a problem with it being Harry joining his team. There's a slim chance he'll even make the team given his coach's very extensive list of skill sets he looks for in players and their nearly full team. But that doesn't calm him much. From what he's seen, Harry is full of surprises. And those long legs that look uncoordinated and problematic could easily be underestimated. He has no doubts that Harry is hiding something up his sleeve. Which is bad for Louis' small dash of hope because his coach has a thing for picking up young blood. And with Harry being only a junior, that scares him.

To be honest, Louis didn't think he'd ever make the team even when he was young. He wasn't any less of a nerd and an outcast three years ago when he tried out, and being the last to audition gave him plenty of time to observe his competition for a spot. They were good. They all were. But, for whatever reason, his coach saw something in him, maybe it was his age - maybe it wasn't, and he hardly even thought about it before giving a decision. And not long after that, he appointed him to the captain position.

The heavy door to the locker room swings open just as he yanks on the final knot of his shoelace, his back to the door. He doesn't have to look to know who just came in. Everyone is already out on the field except for him. So that really only leaves one option.

"You're late, Styles."

There's a short, condescending huff behind him that confirms the identity of the arrival. "I still have two minutes. I'm not late until I'm late." Louis turns, watching Harry's gaze bob up and down him once. Then, again, as if he missed something the first time.

"You better get started then. Coach doesn't take well to stragglers . . . Or people who don't care enough to make a good first impression."

Louis drops his foot off of the bench where he had it up for tying and takes off his glasses, placing them carefully inside his bag. He ducks his head once he's sure that they're secure and brushes past Harry who's still just standing in the middle of the aisle like he wants to be late. But, great. Louis' not complaining if he wants to throw away the chance to be on the team. But he still flinches - expecting sparks again, but this time there was nothing. Hopefully that means he's over the whole shock of finding out his stepbrother could be a fucking model.

He throws open the doors to the locker room, letting them close behind him as he wanders out onto the dewy grass. His pleasurable intake of spring air is quickly cut short as a sudden harsh wind whips at him, fluttering his jersey against his body and causing him to involuntarily shudder. Welcome to hell.

There's a group of boys huddled around the balls in the middle of the field. Some are talking animatedly amongst each other, mouths forming soundless words as their voices are carried off in the breeze. But most of them were hopping from foot to foot, bringing their exposed hands up to their mouths to blow hot air on them. He immediately heads for that direction, more drifting over the ground than walking as the wind threatens to blow his small frame over.

He blushes lightly when he reaches the group, coughing to clear his throat. "Alright, lads. I know it's cold and windy and freezing as hell, but I'm sure we can get through today without too much trouble. It could actually be helpful practice for if we're ever in a game under the same weather conditions." Someone grumbles 'nerd' under their breath. He ignores it. Although he'd be lying if he said that the red on his cheeks didn't get darker. "So if you want to complain . . . Don't. You'll just have to suck it up like the rest of us. Now, we'll be starting off today as we always do. A warm-up lap around the field before splitting into partners for passing exercises. Any questions?" No one says anything, or at least not loud enough for him to hear over the whistling in his ears. "Great. Hop to it."

The group slowly disperses as the boys break up to jog to the edge of the field so they can use the lines as a reference for their warm up run. A couple of them purposefully knock into his shoulder as they pass him, some a little rougher than others, but he just deals with it. The coach put him in charge so they have to listen to him. He couldn't give a fat rat's ass whether they want to or not. He waits for the final boys to join the group before running to file in next to Niall at the back of the pack. Niall gives him a pained look.

"Are they ever going to stop treating you like shit?"

Louis exhales slowly, listening to the squish of his cleats against the soggy ground. "Probably not. But that's okay." They're just jealous that he's captain, and they're not.

Niall snorts. "How is that okay? They can't just keep doing that and expect to get away with it. You need to tell Coach, Lou. You know he'll do something about it."

A rush of panic runs through him. "No, no. It's okay, Niall. It really is. I don't want to get anybody in trouble." He pauses to take a deep breath. "It's not worth it, really. I can handle it. I don't want this team to get broken because I said something."

"If you won't, I will."

He flashes Niall the most pleading look he can. "No, Niall, please don't. You'll only make things worse if you say something. They'll hurt me five times as often and five times as hard. You know it's true."

Niall shuts his mouth after that, but his jaw is clenched in disapproval. And Louis can't help but feel a little lower now that his only friend is disappointed in him. But it's really not his fault. He didn't ask for any of this to happen. He doesn't want to constantly be picked on, teased, and shoved around like a rag doll. But if he wants to keep this team together, he just has to take the abuse. And that's what he tells himself every time something happens and he feels the need to snap or yell or cry. It's for the good of the team.

Now, it'd be different if Niall actually stood up for him himself. It would seem less like a 'I want to have you kicked off the team because of the way you treat me' kind of move and more like a 'just back off a little bit - can't you see he actually takes offense to it?'. He thinks that would be the most appropriate course of action. Getting authority involved would do nothing because, let's face the truth, adults are fucking clueless when their pupils are in emotional pain. It would take Louis to actually write out the words: 'I'm in emotional distress' for his coach to actually be able to see it. And he's not about to do that anytime soon.

The two boys finish their lap in complete silence before Louis diverges in the opposite direction to grab a football from the open sack at midfield. Somehow the sound of the locker room door manages to carry across the field, attracting his attention as Harry slips out, undetected by his other teammates, and looks around with a slight frown. He's surprised he managed to change that fast. Louis doesn't know why, but he just kind of stares at him until their gazes lock, and then he's blushing and looking down at his feet to go back over to Niall. All he can think is 'don't trip', 'don't trip'. Because that could just possibly be the one thing more embarrassing than getting caught staring.

Niall appears to have no shame though for, he looks directly into the bleachers where Harry had temporarily taken a seat, picking at his nails absentmindedly. "Whoa, Lou. Isn't that that guy from the coffee shop?" His blue eyes dart to Louis once before slipping back. "You know, the one who was checking you out?"

Louis feels his neck heat up. "He was not checking me out," he mutters. "He was simply curious as to why I had a giant, elephant sized coffee stain on my sweater." Louis' eyebrows knit as he drops the ball at his feet. "Did you not get my text?"

"Which one?" he hums distractingly, still eyeing the bleachers by the building.

"The one that reminded you that we're going to go jump off a bridge if the guy at the coffee shop ended up being my stepbrother."

That gets his attention. He whips his head away from his goggling and addresses Louis with a new curious look. "He's your stepbrother?"

"Fucking fantastic, isn't it? Oh, and that's not all. He hates me for reasons I don't understand, and he decided to try out for the football team so he can annoy the hell out of me and hate me more. Not to mention the fact that he'll probably join those stupid bastards and start to pick on me too once he realizes that I'm literally nobody."

Niall lets out an angry huff. He hates when Louis degrades himself like that, but he can't help the fact that nobody likes him. He's just stating what everybody already knows about him. "Louis Tomlinson. You are somebody. A fucking wonderful human being, is what you are. So don't give me that self pity bullshit. I'm sick and tired of hearing my best mate beat himself up. Especially when other people are already doing that for him. So please just listen to me for once and know that I love you. Your dad loves you. And if any of those people out there gives you a chance, just a few seconds to get to know the real you, I guarantee that they'll fall in love with you too."

Louis sighs. He appreciates how much Niall really does for him. How he keeps him from doing something stupid by reminding him how much he's loved. He can't thank him enough for that, and he really doesn't know what to say to that most of the time because he knows that he's right. Even if he's hurting particularly badly at the time. And Niall has learned to accept that he needs to hear that every once in a while.

"Thanks, Ni."

Niall smiles softly at him before letting it fade into a straight line filled with mock-seriousness. "Now pass the damn ball, Tomlinson. I can feel my football skills slipping away."

He chuckles and passes the ball lightly with the inside of his foot, loving how precise and accurate his passes have gotten over the years. He was good before he joined the team - not to boast, but he's way past good at this point with the help of his football coach who used to play for one of the top teams in the Premiere League, Leicester City, and some hardcore - outside of practice - training. Now, he's probably not the best player on the team, but he's pretty damn close. And that's good enough for him.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall’s a bit much. I’m sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week was stressful, so I went and got lit last night…worth it. Also I may have heard a guy friend say he would marry me, so I’m a little concerned now, but it’s all good.

"Man, I forgot how hot he is. He's so much better looking than I remember."

Louis' arm swings up to whack Niall in the back of the head, voice dropping to a low hiss. Niall can't keep his fucking eyes off the boy in the stands, and Louis' genuinely starting to get anxious. What if he looks up and sees both of them staring so intently at him? 

"Stop staring. You're making me nervous."

"I'm not even staring at you," he points out, face scrunching. "How the fuck am I making you nervous? It's not like he's going to look over here. Coach isn't even out here yet, and he's been staring at the same scuffed up piece of turf for the past five minutes. I think you're safe."

Louis shuffles on his feet uneasily, trying almost painfully hard to keep his eyes from following Niall's gaze, eyes tracking the patterns the black and white makes as the ball spins across the grass instead. "Surely he can feel us staring at him. Haven't you ever gotten that feeling like you're being watched. Like the hairs at the back of your neck stand up, and you get goosebumps all over because you swear a kidnapper is going to jump out of that tiny shadow in the corner and drag you away to his basement?"

Niall's eyes flicker to him briefly, then back. "That's almost morbid, Lou."

"It could happen!" he protests weakly. "I'm just saying that it's a natural instinct to be able to sense that other things are watching. Watch the nature channel once in your life, and you'd know that too. It's like a sixth sense. So that prey can be on alert for a predator."

"Are you saying that you're the predator and he's the prey?" he counters smugly, smirking when Louis whiffs the ball slightly. "Because that's actually kind of hot and kinky, Lou. Didn't expect that from you."

Heat crawls up the back of his neck and lights up his cheeks. The coil of heat that tightens the pit of his stomach gives him the impression that, yes, he'd very much like that. But Louis wouldn't be the predator. No, he's much too timid for that. He'd definitely be the prey. And remembering the way Harry has addressed him from minute one, he thinks he might already be the prey in his eyes.

"You're sick," Louis states, snagging the ball off the turf to chuck at his shoulder. It bounces back with a thud, so that Louis bring it down with the inside of his knee to rest at his feet again.

Niall yelps. "Oi! I'm just saying, Lou . . . It's not illegal to date, kiss, fuck, or whatever your stepbrother." Louis turns to him with wide eyes, squishing the ball to the ground with his cleats so tightly, he thinks it might just pop. "You remember my cousin, Steven? Of course you do . . . . Anyway, he had an affair with his stepsister for over a year, and no one even knew about it. They could've gotten married if they were motivated to."

Louis picks up the ball again, this time hurling it at his stomach. His face was bright red, he's sure, and the fact that Niall keeps insisting that he fuck his stepbrother when he's only fifty feet away really doesn't help. It hits his best mate straight in the gullet, and his eyebrows scrunch in annoyance, arms wrapping around his stomach.

"Oi, mate!" He scoops it up where it lands and throws it right back, but this one hits him in a very bad place. A place where the birds don't chirp and the sun doesn't shine. Even Niall's face instantly turns guilty, cringing when Louis wheezes breathily and sinks to his knees. He's wearing a protective cup, but, man, when it hits you, it hits you. "Oops . . . sorry."

He glances up at Niall's bashful smile through squinted eyes before squeezing them closed in agony and flopping over to curl into a ball on the ground, hand cradling his privates. "Fuck you," he breathes, voice coming out a raspy whisper.

"Hey, Lou . . . I'm sorry. I really am." A coy little smile spreads across his face, as he reaches down, pulling him in by his collar so their faces are inches apart. His warm breath feels nice on his face, allowing a small bit of blood to flow back into his rosy cheeks. "Want me to kiss it better?"

Louis huffs, pushing his forehead away with the heel of his hand. "You wish." Niall cackles, trying to squirm from his hand. Louis decides to bring out the big guns, taking the hand that was holding his groin and wiping it across Niall's playful face. But he simply continues to play along, licking over his hand when it passes over his lips and rolling eyes back in fake ecstasy.

"Oh, yeah, Lou."

He can't hold back the small giggle that bubbles in the back of his throat, finally shoving Niall off of him successfully and rolling back up onto his feet awkwardly. He grimaces slightly, adjusting the cup, that moved after being hit, discreetly. "See, you're fucking sick. Disturbed, if you will." Looking up, he's more than pleased to see that none of his other teammates had witnessed the scene that just played out. They don't need more of a reason to hold his sexuality against him.

Louis raises his arms above his head in a stretch, hearing his back make a satisfying cracking sound, but not seeing the anxious look Niall shoots him as he glances over his shoulder. He turns his head to him, furrowing his eyebrows in a perplexed expression. His light blue eyes dart behind him over and over, and only then does Louis feel a wave of warmth hit him as if there's a presence behind him or hear the slurp of the mud under cleats. He stiffens. Oh fuck. They didn't see that, did they?

"Having sex on the football field, are we?" comes the condescending, deep husk of a voice that he's come to recognize as his stepbrother's because, let's face it, no one could ever compete with a voice like his. It's just so uniquely Harry and so perfect. And it seems to drip with that smugness he always seems to possess when he's around Louis. "I thought we were practicing for the semis, not giving each other semis."

"Fucking hilarious," Louis comments dryly. He doesn't bother turning around because he knows that as soon as he catches a glimpse of his face, he'll stutter and stumble over his words. "Really. Have you thought about becoming a comedian?"

A feral growl vibrates deep in his throat. It almost sounds like a purr he's so close to Louis' ear, and he makes the mistake of cocking his head a little, his mouth being the first thing his eyes land on given their height difference. His whole body seems to flush of all blood, and he tears his gaze away rapidly to look at his eyes. But those are scathing and much too intense too, and his eyes once again drop to find that freckle under his eye. It's small, but oddly shaped. If he squints hard enough, it almost looks like a heart.

He almost laughs. How ironic. A heart-shaped mark on a person seemingly without one. That's something else.

"Have you thought about getting a life, and to stop making bitchy comments about mine?" Ouch.

Louis narrows his eyes hotly, not missing the way his eyes light up in amusement at the prospect of pissing him off. And Louis will give it to him. He is pissed off. Pissed off and maybe just a little turned on. But thankfully his dick still feels like it was hit by a truck, so at least he doesn't react physically to their little banter. "I'll stop making bitchy remarks at the same time you drop your jackass attitude."

He expects Harry to growl or push him or hurtle another insult at him, but Harry just eyes him levelly, a curl that's usually held back by a bandana falling on to his forehead. "Touché."

Louis has the unexplainable, insistent urge to flick it back - to feel what is probably silk-like strands beneath his fingertips, but Harry beats him to it, straightening and taking a step away from him to address Niall.

"Yo, Blondie," he snaps. "Pass the ball."

Louis snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head irritably at both himself and at Harry's behavior. Why is he even over here? He's not on the team - at least not yet, and he certainly can't boss Niall around. "What the hell are you doing?" He asks, referring to Harry's readied stance.

Harry looks at him like he's a fucking five year old, and he's already explained everything three times over to him. "The coach told me to jump in on a group and practice passing exercises."

"I thought this was an audition?"

"He's assessing me from afar," he waves off casually. "He doesn't have to be breathing down my neck to tell that I can kick a fucking football. I've been playing since I was five. I know a thing or two about passing."

Louis clicks his tongue bitterly when he hears Niall's mumbled comment about the coach not being the only one assessing him from afar. He better just watch that Irish mouth of his or there's going to be more ball chucking. What's worse is that he's almost positive Harry heard every single word he muttered under his breath, and his vibrant green eyes immediately flash to Louis' as if he just automatically assumes that it's him.

Louis makes a mental note to kill Niall later, but nods curtly, hoping that Harry understands the meaning behind it. He does - taking his place equidistance from him and Niall so that the three boys form a triangle.

With a snap of his hip, Louis sends a fast and hard pass in the direction of his stepbrother, for once praying and hoping with genuine concern that someone is actually bad at playing the sport. He doesn't like the idea that Harry could be better at him at anything. Especially not football. He lives and breathes football, and he really doesn't want Harry to become that poisonous gas that sneaks into the air and chokes him. But, of fucking course, he's absolutely brilliant - easily one-touching every rocket Louis sends his way with little effort and an absurdly graceful amount of control. Which makes no sense with his gangly limbs and tall frame. It almost makes Louis want to tear up in frustration, or take the ball and shove it up his beautiful ass.

Harry probably already made friends today too. Louis saw the way people were looking at him earlier. He's the gossip of the school. He could hear his classmates whispering about it all morning. And as if the fact that he's already higher up on the social ladder than Louis is on his first day isn't sad enough, he's a God at playing football as well.

A shrill whistle pierces the crisp air then, forcing Louis to exhale in quiet relief at being pulled from his thoughts. He scoops his foot under the ball and chips it into the air so he can catch it, hurrying after the blonde patch of hair bobbing up to center field. Hell no. He's not going to be stuck with Harry by himself.

The boys gather together, forming a semi-circle around their coach and bouncing on their toes because even as close as they are, it's not enough to conserve the body heat they're losing. The grass crunches next to him, and he's only somewhat surprised to see Harry settle in next to him - arms crossed neatly behind the small of his back and head held defiantly. Louis has to crane his neck a little to see his face, but he doesn't know why he bothers. Honestly, he's much more interested in the way his Adam's apple bobs once in a swallow and the single drop of sweat that runs from the back of his curls, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He wonders if it'd be weird if he licked it.

Cringing, Louis grabs the shoulders of his best mate on his other side to steer him into his current spot so that they switch places. Weird. It'd be weird. Definitely weird . . . and wrong. He crosses his arms over his chest, trying not to think of the way his heart stuttered at the thought, and finally grateful to have some cushion from his step brother.

Harry looks at him blankly, and, fuck, that's so creepy. He doesn't like when his eyes seemingly pierce into his soul. He hates it. It makes him squirm.

"Alright, lads," Coach says with conviction in his booming voice, raising it to be heard over the harsh wind. "As you all know, Semis are under two weeks from now. And, yes, I know that you all just had a week off of school for break. Which probably means you sat on your ass all week and ate a bunch of junk. But we only have nine - ten if you count today - practices before we are out on that field. So I want no slacking or lazing around while you're at my practice, understand?" Everyone except Harry nods aggressively, some flinching. "Good. Scrimmage. Now! Let's go, go, go! Get it set up!"

All the players scatter immediately, grabbing cones and tossing different colored jerseys to assemble themselves into teams. Louis goes to follow them, but a warm hand lands on his shoulder, making him tense. It's grip tightens over the muscles on his back, thumb digging into his shoulder blade as they lean in. He can practically feel his lips burning only millimeters from his earlobe, and if he feels electricity seethe through his body at the touch, Harry doesn't need to know.

"You're such a child," he remarks quietly. He feels every word he rasps out run through him, swimming in his brain, and it takes him a second to comprehend what he just said.

Louis nudges his shoulder up, knocking his hand away as his fingers curl in distaste. A child? Yes, he's acting like a fucking child. He knows that. Harry doesn't have to go out of his way to tell him that. He jogs over to where Niall is waiting patiently, hopeful that he doesn't look nearly as flustered and irritated as he feels.

Niall sees right through him, catching him by the wrist and yanking him in to smirk against his ear. "The predator has found his prey." His voice drops even lower to howl quietly in his ear, then he breaks away, laughing obnoxiously.

"I will hurt you."


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis busts his knee, and Niall captains his ship into port as always

Louis spits out a mouthful of dirt and grass for about the sixth time since practice started thirty minutes ago, his ribs aching and abused from collision after collision with the ground. He accidentally bit his tongue when he went down, and now there's a painful warm throbbing along the bone of his jaw that tells him he's not going to look pretty tomorrow. A groan leaves his parted lips as he rolls over onto his back, teeth grinding when his busted knee knocks against the cold, hard earth.

God, everything hurts. He's been pushed around before, but never to this extreme. It seems like every single player on the team is on edge -- high-strung and extra anxious about the semifinals coming up, and now they're aiming all that pent up aggression at their gay captain to show off for the coach. 

They actually think that they have a chance of swaying Coach into rearranging the layout that Louis knows he already made and is dead set on executing. It's laughable really. He would be laughing if he wasn't already preoccupied writhing around in pain. They'll have to do much more than slide tackle into Louis' shins every time he has the fucking ball to make him change his mind.

Louis sits up slowly, wheezing - one hand pressed to his chest to ease the burn. Looking down, he's able to make a good assessment of the amount of damage inflicted upon him.

Cleat marks run up and down his thighs - even beneath the fabric of his football shorts - and based on the fire trailing across his skin, he has some on the back of his calves too. Scratches and turf burns mingle among the marks to lead up to his mutilated knee, colored green from the grass. The skin on his knee is split. It's cut fairly deep, blood dripping profusely and oozing down his leg in red streaks. Fuck. He's going to be out for at least a couple of days.

He brings a shaky hand down to touch it tenderly, gasping in agony as the sting spreads through his whole leg. There's absolutely nothing healthy about this scrape. There's small bits of gravel and dirt wedged into his flesh, and his skin is already turning purple. It's got an infection written all over it.

The coach's whistle blasts through the air. "Tomlinson! Why are you still down? Come on, let's go!"

Tears prick at the back of his eyes when he realizes he can't get back up. Not by himself. Every time he puts even the slightest bit of pressure on it, he whimpers pathetically and plops back down again. He feels frustrated. Completely and utterly humiliated and weak for not being able to stand in front of his own teammates. And the wind keeps blowing his bangs into his eyes, plastering them flat across the side of his face and irritating him further so he has to push it back.

"I c-can't, sir!" He yells back, voice only wavering a little. "My knees busted."

A hand reaches down for him to take, and with a grunt, he's hauled painfully to his feet. Louis may or may not have screamed softly, eyes scrunched and teeth grating. "Fuck," he growls. The hand holding his hand slides across his back and loops around his waist, the other tossing Louis' limp arm around his shoulder. The embrace is warm and tight, and he's blessed with a comforting feeling. He gives the shoulder a thankful pat, meeting sad light blue eyes as he thrusts all his weight onto his one good foot. He smiles weakly.

Coach reaches them within seconds, finishing scribbling a note on his clipboard before glancing up. "Tomlinson, I don't have time -" He immediately cuts off at the sight of his knee, face paling. Whether that's because he just lost his captain for at least a couple of days or because he doesn't like blood, Louis doesn't know. "Never mind. You're not fine then." He licks his lips nervously, clicking his pen. He clearly wasn't planning for this to happen. "Alright, Tomlinson. Here's what's going to happen. Go sit on the bench for the rest of practice . . . Horan, you get the first aid kit and fix him up. We'll rest you as long as you need - drink plenty of fluids and get some rest. If it's better on Thursday, I encourage you to try and play. A team isn't a team without its captain. We need you back out there as soon as possible."

Louis nods obediently, and Niall helps him hobble off the field. He makes a face upon seeing the metal bench. He can practically already feel his thighs numbing again. He doesn't want to sit. It's way too fucking cold for that. He wants to be out on the field, running and keeping up his body temperature.

A huff leaves Niall's lips as he carefully lowers him onto the seat. He looks almost disappointed. There's that wrinkle in his brows that he always gets when he's displeased. It's a look that mixes genuine concern with an 'I told you to get help, but you didn't listen to me'.

Again, Louis is left feeling that guilt build. It settles like a heavy rock in his stomach and pounds on his insides till he swears he's going to throw up. He hates disappointing people he cares about. It makes him feel so worthless, so dirty. And he hates that he always seems to be the one causing it.

Niall drags the case from under the bench, the whistle once again going off to continue play on the field. Louis kind of half-watches the scrimmage. His eyes only really track the movements of one player when he's not watching Niall's careful hands on his skin. He looks good. Louis not afraid to admit it because in that moment Niall's not watching . . . and Harry's not watching. So is it really that bad to admire the sweaty curls clinging to the back of his neck or the way the borrowed uniform conforms around his biceps and hips? It's not bad when no one knows about it, right? Harry halts when the ball is in the goal, puffing out a breath and ruffling his entire head of hair, shoving the stringy strands out of his eyes; then he glances down, notices his boot is untied and bends to redo the knot. He honestly doesn't even notice when he leans forward a little until Niall de-caps the can with a shrug outside of his vision, giving him no warning before spraying his wound.

He screams in shock, trembling hand gripping around his wound. "Holy fucking shit!" His whole leg throbs violently, and he wants to kick Niall with his cleats. "Ow. You could've given me a heads up. Jesus."

The Irish boy simply lets his lips curl smugly. He knows that Louis wasn't paying attention to what he was doing, and Louis hates the way he's gazing at him. Like he knows exactly what he's distracted by. God, is he that readable? He thought Niall wasn't watching. The bandage wrap is taken out next, Niall unwinding it around his fingers.

"I don't see why you're so hung up on this stepbrother thing," he comments truthfully. "If you told me I was getting a stepbrother, I'd be thrilled. I wouldn't automatically assume that he's an asshole just because he's hot . . . Don't even try to deny that - you're drooling."

Louis fish-mouths in disbelief, lips parting and closing again. He is not drooling. "I didn't assume anything. I was being pleasant. He was the one who acted bitchy."

Niall is unconvinced. "I think you both are acting rather unreasonably. You guys act like its the end of the world to be placed under the same roof. If anything, you should be honored to experience finally having a sibling to look after. You said that you've always wished you had someone who could understand yourself better than you do. Maybe he can be that person. He can be like the little brother you never had."

"More like the little brother I never wanted," Louis grumbles under his breath before clearing his throat and speaking louder. "It's a mutual hatred. We just like to push each other's buttons. Nothing more, nothing less. Isn't that what siblings do? Besides . . . I already have you."

He shakes his head, patting the finished bandage and looking into his eyes. Louis' leg feels stiff and immobile, barely even shifting when Niall touches it. "You two take sibling rivalry to the next level, and you're not even related. One of these days, one of you is going to say or do something really horrible to the other and regret it." He sighs dramatically, sitting back on his heels. "You should at least try to get along with him. He's probably just upset about having to move to a new town. Let him warm up a little bit first."

Louis knows that Niall is right. He usually is about these kinds of things. He really should give him a chance. But he's afraid of what he'll do if they actually get close. He gets so flustered and useless whenever he's near, and his mind always wanders back to when they met at the coffee shop when he flashed him that flirty, cheeky grin that made his insides flush. If he wasn't going to be his stepbrother, he might even be a little flattered. Okay . . . A lot flattered. But they are going to be related by marriage and that's too fucking weird. That'd be like incest. He licks over his lip.

"I'll give it a shot," he says timidly. If it will make Niall feel a little bit better, then he's willing to try. Only for Niall though. If anyone else were to ask him, he'd probably punch them. "I'm not expecting much though."

Niall stands from his crouched position and wraps his arm around him again to pull him to his feet. He can't move his knee at all with the bandage wrapped so snuggly, but he can kind of limp with Niall's shoulder to lean on. Louis' hand squeezes his shoulder as he leans over to kiss his soft cheek, his facial muscles constricting under Louis' lips as he talks. "Trying is all I'm asking for, Lou. I love you. I just want what's best for you. And I think having a brother will be good for you."

Louis keeps his face close to the side of Niall's cheek, taking advantage of the slight heat to warm his nose and exhales softly. "You're the best, you know that?"

"Damn right."

He giggles quietly, but his eyebrows soon scrunch as he sees the expression on Niall's face. Niall's eyes are trained to the left - not even looking at him, and Louis attempts to look over his head but fails. His head lifts slightly to put his mouth near Louis' ear. "Uh oh. Don't look now, but I think someone's a little jealous."

Louis looks anyway, pushing Niall's head down so he can see. The hopeful feeling fluttering in his stomach is confirmed when he witnesses emerald irises flick over him irritably, darting away quickly when he's caught. It's such a casual and smooth move as he jogs breezily past the sideline that Louis genuinely believes Niall imagined the whole thing. But, come to think of it, since when is he on this side of the field?

"Don't be ridiculous," he brushes off. "Harry doesn't give a shit." Niall looks like he's going to argue, but Louis tugs on his shirt impatiently, limping faster so he's forced along towards the locker rooms. "Just drop it. I want to get changed so I don't die of hypothermia, and I can't do it alone."

Niall groans good-naturedly, not really all that upset. Louis knows he'll do anything for him. Even if it means helping him change. "Fuck you."

"Love you too, Ni."


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is a nervous bean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I was thinking winter was nearly over, and we just got 6 more inches of snow…freaking mint 👌🏻

"Damn, Louis. You picked the wrong day to wear your sexy skinny jeans," Niall complains, attempting to tug the material over his large bum. "Seriously, Lou. How'd you even get them on without my help?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Niall. They're not that tight."

Niall looks at him exasperatedly, grunting one last time to yank it up his hips. Louis' still shirtless, and he can see a few scratches along his waistline, cringing when Niall's fingers accidentally brush them. He expected the damage to be worse, but most of it is just small, shallow scrapes on his legs and elbows. It's not like they trampled him with their cleats or anything. He has that much to be grateful for. His bullies could definitely be worse to him.

Shifting on his good leg, his hand latches onto the lockers by the bench he's using for support. He can remember Niall's face when he unveiled his marks though. It was utterly disgusted and appalled. Louis was worried for a second that it was him that he was disgusted by, but then he ran a finger over a small bruise on his hip and clicked his tongue angrily. The Irish boy ranted for a good ten minutes about how despicable they all are. How they need to get a life because it's the fucking twenty-first century. Louis tried to convince him multiple times that he's fine - that bruises will heal and he only has to deal with it for two more weeks. But he could still tell that Niall was pissed off.

When the boy finally did stop talking, Louis found himself thinking about what Niall said about Harry being jealous. It seems utterly ridiculous the more he thinks about it. They've only known each other for like twenty-four hours, and Louis' a complete nerd. If Harry has found anyone in this small town attractive yet, it's not him. And he really doesn't seem like the jealous type.

It apparently takes longer to get him changed than they anticipate because the other players scurry in after practice ends at the same time Niall wrings up the bottom of his shirt and throws it over his head. He feels he should be embarrassed by the fact that Niall is dressing him like a three-year old. He can see their dark shadows pass through the fabric, and it's confirmed that they're judging him hardcore when Niall pulls the collar down to his neck. His best mate's blue eyes flicker over the pink on his cheeks, and then over his shoulder to growl at the people who are looking at them weirdly.

"What are ye looking at? Carry on, would ya? Haven't seen a guy change another guy before?"

Some - the nicer ones - chuckle lightly at the way Louis groans, face flushing. Not everyone on the team is a jerk that treats him roughly. No one really ever gives him a hard time about his sexuality except for some of his teammates. Quite a few of them have actually told him that they respect his leadership as captain, but they do it with secret smiles and hidden pats of encouragement because they don't want to get dragged down the social ladder by befriending him. Everyone else in the school just ignores him. It's nice to know that he's not that hated on the team. That he's actually doing something right as captain.

He doesn't remember exactly when he suddenly became too uncool for everybody - he's guessing somewhere around the time he came out and when he got glasses, but he doesn't necessarily mind not having a lot of friends. If they are worth having as a friend, they wouldn't be so afraid to sacrifice their social life.

Harry's the last one to come in, tugging the collar of his shirt up to wipe over his slick face. He runs a large hand through his curls, smiling as people come up to give him high-fives. They congratulate him like he's already part of the team, but if they watched him perform like Louis did, he can understand why they think he already has the position. There's a slight breeze behind him, ruffling his loose, sweaty hair, and Louis hates the way his heart speeds up.

Of course Harry has to come in at the most awkward time - when Niall is threading his arms through the sleeves and jerking the hem of his shirt down. Louis really could've probably done that himself.

Harry raises a thick eyebrow when he passes. His eyes roll over the pair, but he doesn't bother to make a remark. He moves past the two boys, brushing against Louis' shoulder to reach his locker. Watching from the corner of his eye, Louis notices that Harry had picked the locker right next to his own. He doesn't really understand it. There's plenty of other lockers to choose from. He wants to say that it bothers him, but he's hit with a wind of his crisp scent and sweat, and suddenly it doesn't seem as problematic as it did a second ago. His cheeks get a little warmer when he sees him peel off his sticky shirt from the corner of his vision. He doesn't think he's ever been more conflicted about being able to see pretty well without his glasses. He avoids staring the best he can, but that doesn't stop him from noticing the black that decorates his chest.

Thankfully Niall distracts him, hauling him down a couple of lockers. But it turns out his luck is short-lived because Niall yanks him down by his wrist and whispers in his ear.

"Go talk to him."

"What? Why?"

Niall nudges him forward. A flash of panic runs through him as Harry hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his shorts. Oh, fuck. His breathing picks up and he scrambles to turn around in Niall's grip. A desperate whine leaves his lips when he continues to shove him forward. "Please, Niall. Not today. I'm too tired and crippled for this."

His best mate pinches the bridge of his nose, rolling his eyes when Louis chickens out. "Fine. But you better talk to him tomorrow."

Louis breathes out loudly. "Okay."

Niall gives him a strong, reassuring pat, walking around him to go to his locker on the other side of the room. He wishes Niall had known him three years ago when they had picked their lockers because now he's painfully aware that he's alone with Harry. He huffs, plopping down on the bench so he can dig through his bag without falling over. Niall's not going to let this go till he talks to him.

Harry shimmies on his tight skinny jeans, and Louis feels his breathing turn uneven again. This locker situation is going to be a problem. His hands shake so badly that he drops his keys on the cold floor when he finally finds it. It just barely slips through his fingers, landing with a loud clank, and Louis thinks he really could've tried harder not to look like such a klutz.

"Fuck."

He doesn't know if Harry had noticed that when he fell on the field it wasn't an accident, but he's definitely not an idiot when it comes to reading body language. Louis looks up at the feeling of eyes on him. Harry's eyes dart to his locker door as he shuts it harshly. At least he's dressed now. "You seem nervous." Louis plays with the ring of his keys as Harry turns, the boy folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the lockers. "Do I make you nervous?"

Louis doesn't say anything for a couple of seconds. Harry's gaze flits over his body quickly. He keeps an impassive face as he pushes off the metal and grabs a necklace from on top of his phone, appearing as if he no longer expects an answer after his silence.

"No," Louis responds gruffly.

It's a clear lie, and Harry sees right through it. He loops the chain around his neck and lets it fall to his chest, lips taking on that cheeky grin he saw earlier. Louis' knuckles turn white. Harry slips his phone into his pocket and breezes by him, slowing to pat his cheek twice condescendingly. It's way too alluring to actually offend him though. Especially when he gets a close up of his emerald irises and sees all the different shades that color them.

"Good. I like making you nervous."

Harry smirks, hauling his bag onto his shoulder and heading for the door. Why is he in such a hurry to leave? He can't go anywhere without -

Louis looks down at his keys and groans. Shit. He forgot about that. He's no expert on driving, but he's pretty sure he should not be driving with the leg that he can't bend even a little. That seems a bit dangerous. Coughing, Louis works up enough courage to call after him.

"Styles!" Louis chucks his keys at the boy, watching him fumble to catch them after only a second of warning. Louis grimaces, using his arms to help push himself off the bench. Harry looks at him expectantly, eyes darting between him and the keys he was just tossed. "I hope you have your license because you're driving. Try not to wreck it. I'm quite fond of being alive."

His eyes light up, sparkling with a mischievousness as the grin breaks out again. "Sweet." He looks a little too happy about the fact that he's driving. Like a villain who was just handed the key to the city in those cartoons he used to watch as a kid.

Louis squints at him. "Uh-huh." He snatches his own bag off the bench and hobbles towards the boy who reminds him of the Cheshire cat at the moment. Oh, he's so going to regret this.

The sound of footsteps rush up behind him, hands grabbing at his waist. They're frantic and fast, holding him up. "Louis, be careful! Don't put too much pressure on it. It might open again."

Huffing, Louis swats his hands away. "I'm fine, mum. I'll be fine. I think I can make it home without you. Well . . . assuming Harry doesn't kill us first."

Niall raises an eyebrow. "Kill you? How on earth would he manage to do that? Or should I ask: What twisted fantasy is in your head this time about how he's an evil demon?"

"I'm offended, Niall. Really. I don't think he's evil, okay? I'm just a little nervous because he's driving us home. It's only a five minute drive, but you never know what could happen. And I've never seen him drive so -" Louis looks over Niall's shoulder - notices Harry's gone. "Shit. Where'd he go? You don't think he left me, do you? Fuck, he left me, Niall. What am I going to do? I can't walk home. It'll take me ages."

Amusement spreads over his features, and he smirks, pointing over Louis' shoulder. "He's right there, Lou. He's been there the whole time - watching you freak out. And, might I say, he looks fairly pleased that you just admitted that you need him." Louis spins on his heel, flushing when he meets those coy green eyes on him.

"Blondie's not wrong," Harry confirms, crossing his legs out in front of him where he is set on the bench, twirling his key ring around his spindly fingers. He grins, straightening. "I do find it rather pleasurable. Makes me almost want to leave you just so I can hear you beg." Louis' face scrunches.

"So that's what he sounds like," Niall whispers in his ear. "Hot damn, Lou. Set me up if you're not going to chase him."

Niall takes the initiative to step forward, smiling. Louis feels his childish side come to the surface when Niall sticks his hand out in greeting, and Louis purses his lips. Harry's smug face isn't making him want to befriend him, and he doesn't like how Niall seems to keep pushing him that way. "I don't believe we've met. The name's Niall. I'm Louis' best mate coming up on three years. You must be Harry. And, may I just say, you're extremely gorgeous."

Louis frowns, bumping Niall with his hip. He may not be trying to chase Harry, but that doesn't mean he wants Niall to. In fact, the idea makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't like the way Niall stares at him. Especially when Harry smiles back, scanning him up and down. He takes his outstretched hand, shaking it slowly.

"Pleasure."

Why the fuck is he being nice to Niall when he ignores Louis and snaps at him when something bad happens? They just met! "Okay!" Louis exclaims, pushing Niall to the side. "We're leaving."

He doesn't know where this sudden bravery comes from, but he grabs Harry's wrist and drags him to his feet. The boy stumbles along ahead of him as he lets go, his bag bouncing noisily against his back. "Whoa. Easy there, tiger. I'm going." Louis limps after him, making sure he keeps walking. After a second, he rubs his hand over the spot where Louis touched him, and Louis wonders if his skin is tingling from the touch too.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is softer than he seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, upon reposting this story, I have come to really consider a sequel for this book. I know it's not fully published on here yet, but whenever you finish or see to know how you feel about the book - drop a comment on whether I should pull out a sequel or not.  
> :)  
> I would like to, but only if people want to read it, so.

Harry apparently decides that he wants ice cream at the last possible second, muttering a, "fuck it" before swerving into the parking lot to a small shop. Louis doesn't think he's ever screamed louder than he did in that moment. He swears his heart skips at least two beats when the truck coming the other way just barely misses, driver seemingly leaning on the horn to cuss them out. It's unfortunate because he's actually not that bad of a driver. The basic skills are there. He just apparently prefers to be a little reckless.

Louis' still shaking when Harry puts the car into park. He almost died. Harry almost fucking killed them, and Louis' more than just a little pissed off about it. As soon as he manages to get his breathing under control, he growls, leaning over to rip the keys out of the ignition. He clutches them tightly, making sure that Harry is paying attention to him.

"After today . . ." he starts, holding the keys up in his face. "You are not to touch these keys ever again. Got it? No more driving."

The boy looks unaffected, lips pressed in an uninterested line. How can he possibly look so bored after pulling a stunt like that? He's a maniac, Louis' sure of it. He looks from Louis' eyes to the keys, then snatches the keys from his hand and pushes his door open.

"Oh, loosen up." Loosen up? He wants Louis to fucking loosen up? Is he insane? He swings his long legs out of the car and climbs out. Breathing in dramatically, he turns and throws his forearm against the top of the car so he can bend down to smirk at him. It's infuriating really. "You're so uptight. Relax those shoulders. Loosen that jaw." When Louis doesn't even twitch, he continues. "You should learn to be more flexible . . ."

He drums his long fingers on the edge of the door, eyes twinkling. "What's your name again?"

Louis really doesn't know why – he really shouldn't care, but he feels something like a sting in his chest at his words. It's the same feeling he'll get when Niall's upset with him or his mum yells at him. He knows it all too well. It is hurt and loneliness all at the same time – a deadly combination if you really think about it.

All the anger just really seems to leave his body in one rush, and Louis wonders why Harry can't just be nice to him. He wonders why he doesn't deserve a stepbrother that actually cares. He knows it's just a joke to him – simple teasing. But it doesn't feel that way. Louis swallows around the tightness in his throat, directing his gaze to look out the window on his side so he doesn't have to look at Harry and picks at a strand on his jeans.

"Whatever. Just get your damn ice cream."

He doesn't look, but he can tell – no, he can feel – his presence linger by the car door for a second. It's almost like he doesn't know how to respond. And Louis wonders if maybe he's smart enough to figure out what to say and apologize. He gives him the opportunity, continuing to listen to his soft breathing for a couple seconds after he stopped talking. But then he hears the door slam on the driver's side, and Louis sags.

Staring out at the gray, cloudy sky, he doesn't really know why he expected something different. He's still just that stupid stepbrother that he's stuck with. He's still nothing to him. And Louis knows they don't know each other that well, but it really fucking hurts because the damn kid isn't even giving him a chance.

Louis' eyes ghost over the side mirror, and he scowls as he catches his reflection, eyes darting back. He runs his finger over the bruised skin on his jaw, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth in disgust as he sees that it's starting to puff up. The slight stubble dusting his jaw covers a good majority of it, but not enough. He just hopes that his dad will be oblivious enough to not look too closely. He doesn't feel like being questioned even if he knows he could probably come up with a decent lie.

After a while, his bum really starts to hurt from sitting in the same position for this long, so he shifts, nearly having to push himself entirely off the seat to scoot over. The clock ticks forward another minute, and Louis groans, cocking his head against the cool glass. Who even wants ice cream in four degree weather? He's so bizarre.

Harry eventually does come back, but with a cup and something like a lump in his other hand, and Louis looks away as soon as he starts to look up. He tries not to think about it, instead focusing on drawing patterns on the foggy window with his finger. He draws a smiley face, and then decides it doesn't fit his mood and goes back over it to draw a frowny face. Much better.

The door clicks open, allowing Harry to slide in and cast a slight breeze towards him that smells an awful lot like Harry. He moves to draw a circle around the face. It's silent for a second, and Louis can imagine him watching his finger run over the smooth glass. Then he hears him slide something into the cup holder, the clanking of objects following. Louis' more curious than he should be.

Something really cold brushes his jaw on the side closest to Harry and he jumps, startled by the touch. At first he thinks it's just his finger, but crossing his eyes to look down, he sees that he's actually holding out the lump he saw him holding earlier. And upon closer inspection, it's just a paper towel wrapped around something that he holds at the ends to form a sort of ball. Harry's face is as impassive as he's ever seen, moving his hand slightly so that whatever's inside rattles like marbles.  
Harry seemingly waits for a second, judging whether Louis' going to slap him away or take it himself. But honestly, Louis is curious as to what it is. When he doesn't do anything, he slowly moves to press it back against the side of his jaw. It's still cold, but this time he can feel moisture seeping through onto his skin. Ice.

"You should ice that. It's getting worse."

Louis can't say he's ever been more surprised by his action. This boy is like the definition of hot and cold. One minute, he's teasing, the next, he's angry, and then he does something like this. It feels like such an odd thing for him to do, and Louis wonders if he should be suspicious or not. Harry motions for him to take it, so he does – cautiously and slowly. He's careful not to touch any of his fingers during the transfer. Is this a trick of some kind?

But it can't be a trick because as soon as Louis' got a grip, his hand is gone and he's starting the car. There's no mischievous twinkle in his eye or a twitch to his lips. He simply just puts the car in reverse and pulls out. He probably got sick of looking at his puffy face. Louis snags his bottom lip with his teeth and mumbles a quiet, "thanks" anyway.

Harry doesn't respond to his gratitude, but Louis doesn't really expect anything different. Louis reaches down to grab his bag, hauling it onto his lap so he can root through it. He quickly finds what he's looking for, pulling them out and slipping them on. He likes wearing glasses. They make the world so crisp and pretty instead of blurred edges and shapes, and he always thought he felt bare without the frames weighing on the bridge of his nose.

Looking back out the window, he realizes that Harry is actually driving somewhat reasonably. His lips are pursed like he's tense or thinking about something. Pretty intently, might he add. And Louis thinks that maybe if Harry can do something like this more often – show him he's trustworthy, he can maybe let him drive again.

A couple of blocks from their house, he reaches to the dashboard and turns down the radio, eyes flitting over to Louis. "So who exactly is your friend? Niel, was it? What's his story or whatever?"

That's unexpected. For some reason his mind flashes back to what Niall said about Harry being jealous, but he squelches it. There's no way he's jealous. Harry probably doesn't even like guys. And he knows for certain that he doesn't like him. However, when he looks again, he appears a little ruffled or something. Which is definitely unusual for someone like him.

"It's Niall," he corrects, but the flash of an eye roll from Harry told him he doesn't really care. "And, um, I don't know." He adjusts the make-shift ice pack, switching hands so he can wipe his numb, wet one on his jeans. "He's been my best mate since I started high school. He's really sweet – a little loud sometimes, but I think I've over looked that for the most part. And he's been there for me when no one else was. I think he's the only real friend I have." He makes sure not to elaborate on how and why exactly he's had to be there for him because the less Harry knows, the better, but he already feels like he gave away too much about himself. He sinks down in the passenger seat a little, pulling down the sides of his beanie.

"Oh." That's all he says, and Louis doesn't ask for him to say anything more. He's probably just curious anyway.

Louis licks his lips nervously, wondering if this would be a good time to keep a conversation going. Harry's not being nasty at the moment, and he's actually kind of curious as to what his answer will be, so he takes the leap and takes Niall's advice.

"So, um, how was school? Did you make any friends?"

Harry glances at him briefly, pulling into their driveway. It's hard to read what he's feeling, and Louis genuinely thinks he should take up poker because he's really good at being unreadable. He's learned how to read body language pretty well, but this boy is just a mystery. Maybe that's why he can never seem to get him out of his mind.

He yanks the keys out of the ignition after placing it in park, laying his forearm across the steering wheel to address him. "Maybe."

Louis drops his gaze for a second, debating on asking another question because that really wasn't much of a conversation. And Harry doesn't make an immediate move to get out. But he can tell from the way he plays with the ring on his finger that he's really not all that thrilled about the topic of friends. He opens his mouth to ask something else, but Harry beats him to it, staring directly into his eyes as he says it.

"Your car smells good."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Good?"

Is that some kind of code or something that's supposed to mean something else? Because he's always thought it smelled like old coffee and sweat. Inhaling now, it doesn't smell any different than he remembers, and Louis doesn't understand why he thinks it smells good. Louis' even pretty sure he has some dirty soccer socks lying on the floor somewhere in the back.

Wrinkles appear in his nose as Louis reacts the way he does, clearly uncomfortable with the way he changed the subject. He doesn't bother explaining what he means, throwing the door open and it's weird. It feels weird that their roles have suddenly changed and Harry's the one who can't start a conversation. But, then again, maybe it was just a simple remark. Either way, Louis finds it more adorable than he should.

Harry also apparently doesn't bother waiting to see if he needs help getting out, grabbing his shake from the cup holder and his bag from the back seat and stepping inside. Louis assumes that his luck for the day has run out.

"Oh, don't worry," he grumbles to no one in particular. "I'll just crawl my way inside then."


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s aunt is a dark larrie, and Harry’s kind of an asshole still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This guy likes me, but he only admits it when he’s drunk. I think it’s freaking hilarious. What’s bad is I think I have a thing for his friend…oops

Louis somehow manages to tumble with great difficulty from the old car, his foot catching, quite unfortunately, on the inside of the doorframe, so that he slumps onto the cold pavement. It's not so much painful as an inconvenience because of the amount of effort it will take to get back up. His bandaged knee makes his leg rigid and borderline useless. Which makes it quite difficult to haul himself to his feet, even with the aid of his hands. He has to grab onto the car door to keep from stumbling again, and he feels helpless, like a little kid trying to learn to walk for the first time. If Louis wasn't so scared of the kid, he'd tell him off for just leaving him there when he knows he can barely waddle. 

He grabs his bag off the ground. There are a couple of new abrasions on his palms, but other than that he's okay - well, for the most part. 'Okay' might be stretching it. He's tired, his body aches with fresh bruises, and he wants nothing more than to take a nice, long shower to wash his thoughts down the drain, along with all the dirt and grime. He feels disgusting, like this day has gone on for weeks and he still hasn't showered, but in reality is only half of a day. His pain seems endless. But, honestly, Louis' just grateful that nothing worse happened. If he broke a leg, he'd never recover in time for the semifinals.

The ice pack that he held in his fist is now on the ground, scattered all over the pavement, and Louis stops to pick it up. He's not one to litter no matter how tired he really is. With the ice collected and bag nestled over his shoulder, he finally waddles inside.

A blast of warmth hits him as soon as the door cracks open, washing over him like a blissful tide. It reminds him of when he was young - his mum was still alive back then - and he would pester his parents into baking cookies like the little brat he was. Then they would open the oven door and feel that warmth pour out, filling his stomach with a certain calmness and anticipation. That's what he feels right now. But instead of cookies, the prize is a comfy couch cushion with his name written all over it.

Once inside, he falls back against the closed door and let's the strap of his bag slip off his limp fingers. It lands with a loud thud, and he releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, raking his fingers through his sweaty, stringy hair as he yanks off his beanie. He can't remember the last time it felt this good to come home. He tosses the ice on his way up the stairs.

Louis enters the bathroom, only tugging off his shirt when he decides he doesn't want to chance a real shower. Not only would his bandage most likely get wet, but he'd probably end up with a dent in his skull if he slipped. So he settles for a quick sponge bath and rinsing his hair out in the sink instead. After he's positive he doesn't smell atrocious anymore, he takes a seat on his bed and worms his way out of his skinny jeans. It's a process, much like Niall commented on earlier, and the sense of relief when it finally slips off his last foot is overwhelming. He dumps them in the basket with his shirt and redresses in some gray sweats and an old t-shirt that he's certain must have a hole in it somewhere by now.

The bruises he can't help but spot tend not to faze him much anymore. He's used to coming home with a newly discolored patch of skin or a scrape. Hell, it's practically come to the point where it'd be weird if he didn't. It's not everyday that they actually go so far as to actually hurt him this bad though, usually just a nudge or soft push, and Louis wonders if it's only going to get worse leading up to finals. The thought terrifies him more than it should. He's uncertain whether his teammates would take him out if it meant they could be captain. A couple of them, he could maybe see doing it, but it stills seems too sadistic. Even for them.

Harry's door is shut when he passes, the only sign that there's life coming from a small light illuminating from the crack under it. Louis hesitates outside it, trying to see if he can hear what he's doing but there's nothing. What could he possibly be doing? Ever since he's moved in, he disappears to his room for hours on end whenever they're not required to be together. He really only ever comes out for dinner and the occasional drink or snack. But it's hard to say if that's normal after only one day of living together. A couple of ideas come to mind, like sleeping or reading, but, even then, he feels like he should be able to hear something - a snore, breathing, a page cracking as he turns it. He frowns when he doesn't and continues on. Whatever. He's too tired to care about what he's doing anyway.

Louis crawls onto the couch, curling into the corner where his bum print is practically etched into the upholstery. He ignores the craving for some caffeine, a hot tea perhaps, instead feeling his eyelids droop happily. Wet fringe dangles in his face and he reaches to push it back. He really doesn't care if he resembles a drowned rat right now. No one is going to see him, and he doubts he'll see Harry until dinner. His parents aren't going to be home for another two hours yet, and he really doesn't have anything to do. So he decides that a quick nap won't hurt anybody.

*********

He jolts awake what feels like mere moments later, not knowing what exactly had woken him. His head feels less groggy and his eyes don't burn with exhaustion, but he wishes he could've stayed asleep just a little bit longer.

The house is practically silent other than the occasional creak or groan of the woodwork, and he, once again, wonders why the hell he had to wake up. The telly's still off, suggesting that his parents aren't home because otherwise his dad would be there, watching whatever crap they throw on CBS. It's like a routine. His dad comes home from work and then just goes straight for the living room. However, if he strains hard enough, he thinks he can hear soft voices coming from the kitchen.

When he raises his head from where it had lulled to the side, his neck cracks in protest and he realizes how awkwardly he was sleeping. He had sagged nearly halfway to laying down and his injured leg is still resting comfortably out in front of him so that he couldn't turn his body in his unconscious state. And Louis can honestly say that this bandage is already starting to be more trouble than it's worth. He contemplates ripping it off and facing the threat of infection instead of hobbling around like a drunk penguin, but decides the risk is too great.

He reluctantly rises to his feet, starting to feel the soreness reach his limbs as he stretches a bit and wanders aimlessly towards the bathroom. The murmur of voices gradually get louder as he approaches, but he doesn't think anything of it. That is until his mind finally clicks and he recognizes the deep voice, making him stop.

" . . . hate it. Everything is so small here. Everyone seems to know exactly who I am every bloody time I go outside the house, and it's scary. I'd really just like to blend in - be invisible for just a little while. I could do that in London, but here . . ."

Louis peers hesitantly around the corner, eyes locking onto Harry's back as he talks animatedly into his cell phone. The device is held precariously between his cheek and his shoulder, hands flying around the countertop in what looks to be the makings of a sandwich. He listens closely to what the other person is saying, gripping the knife tightly.

"No -" His curls bounce as he shakes his head. "Auntie, I don't want -"

He suddenly puts the knife down, reaching up to snatch his phone off his shoulder and whispering harshly into it. Louis can't make out everything he says, but he's almost certain he's complaining by the irritated tap to his foot and the exaggerated hand movements. Louis starts to leave, deciding it's not worth eavesdropping.

"No. I refuse to talk to him. He doesn't like me; I don't like him. End of story." Louis halts. " . . . I don't care if he wants to be friends. I'd rather befriend the shrub on the patio . . . Auntie -"

Harry lets out a frustrated sigh, letting her speak for a while then picks up where he left off making his sandwich.

"He's not the kind of person I usually hang out with. He's geeky and -" He pauses for a split second. "Awkward . . . No, that's not better. There was nothing wrong with my old friends." His voice carries an edge to it now - almost defensive.

He grips the knife harder, knuckles turning white. "That was one time, Auntie . . . I know, okay? I promised I wouldn't do it again . . . God? I make one poor decision and, suddenly, I can't be trusted." Louis wonders what he could've done. Did he get caught doing something?

Louis could imagine the kind of people he used to hang out with, bad boys like Zayn and Liam who think they can get away with anything. He doesn't like that image. It makes him uncomfortable to picture Harry sitting around, drunk off his ass, giggling and breathing in the smoke-filled air surrounding him while his friends pass around a joint. It doesn't seem right somehow.

"I really don't think that's going to happen here . . . No, the kid would probably have a heart attack if he knew -" His voice raises into a condescending scoff. "He practically screams 'good boy'. I don't think he'd want to know . . . Yes, mum's taking care of me just fine." There's almost a hint of fondness behind his words, and he wonders what it would take to have it directed at him one day.

"Look, I was really drunk. I didn't know what I was doing, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I know better now."

Harry lets out a heavy huff. "He told me to 'stay the fuck out of his way'. I really don't think he wants to have tea and biscuits . . . What do you want me to do? . . . No, he's asleep . . . Hell no. I am not getting him flowers."

The prospect of Harry showing up and giving him flowers is so utterly ridiculous - he'd pay to see that happen - that he accidentally lets a small chuckle escape, and he doesn't have time to hop to the side before Harry's whirling around. His green eyes click onto his and then they're flaring with something he can't distinguish, hate, fury, or a probably a combination of the two. A thin, pink tongue darts out to run over his lip, and suddenly Louis is more than a little scared. His long fingers are still wrapped neatly around the handle of the knife. He should've kept walking when he had the chance.

"Yeah, Auntie . . . I'm going to have to call you back."

Maybe he can still run. Maybe it's not too late yet. Maybe he can make it to his room - no, Harry's too fast for that. He'd catch him easily. Harry takes a step forward, eyeing Louis like he's prey. Oh God.

"Mhm. Love you too."

Then all of a sudden, his call is ended and his phone is at his side. There's a tense moment when he just stares at Louis, lips pressed in a line, like Louis is a dog who just chewed his favorite shoes, struggling not to lash out and actually hit the animal. He takes another step, and Louis takes one back with wide eyes. A muscle twitches in his jaw.

"Were you listening to my conversation?"

His voice is dropped to a low, threatening tone, and Louis' sure he's never been more scared or uncertain in his life. The way he says it makes his throat lump and his spine tingle. The predator had found his prey. He shivers.

"I was going to the bathroom," he lies cooly, somehow managing to hide the fear from his words. "I didn't hear a thing."

"Bullshit," he spits coldly. His long legs dance another step closer, and Louis swallows. He's going to die. Harry's going to kill him.

Louis' eyes drop to his chest, observing how it heaves in anger, probably losing every speck of respect he had for him. It probably wasn't much, but now it feels like he has nothing.

"You are so goddamn annoying. Why do you have to invade every single bit of privacy I have left? Isn't it bad enough that I'm forced to share a house with you? I'm just lucky I don't have any classes with you. That way I can have some time where I don't have to see your bloody face and be reminded that I'm stuck in this town."

Louis feels a sharp stab at his words, the dark, unforgiving glaze in his eyes. He can't pretend that they're friends. Harry has made it very clear that he doesn't care about what he feels. And suddenly all of the fight seems to get beaten out of him. It drains away and leaves him sagging.

When he looks again, he can see a different side to the boy in front of him. One that he knows he tried to mask since he got here - the light bags under his eyes that tell him he probably hasn't slept properly in days and how raw his bottom lip looks as if it's been worked over for hours and split, bleeding. Louis' just hit, all at once, with all the shit he must've gone through - all the friends he lost, a new school, starting over, the time and effort it took to sell their house and pack their belongings, the nights he must've laid awake, wondering what his new stepbrother would be like. Louis had two days. Two days to prepare, yet he couldn't remember losing sleep because of it. But it's clear Harry has.

Louis drops his gaze, ashamed, wondering how he missed it, and wishing he could've tried harder to be nicer. He doesn't like the way Harry's looking at him now, like he's something he can't stand being in the same room with.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

He says it so quietly, so sincerely, that he's afraid Harry doesn't catch it, and he doesn't glance up to see if he had. There's silence. Cricket-chirping, can only hear the sounds of their breathing kind of silence. And Louis can only imagine what Harry's thinking - why he suddenly backed off and apologized, how odd it is that he simply stared at him and bowed obediently. He must think he's bipolar or something.

Then there's a slight rustle as Harry shifts, and Louis can't take being in there any longer, heading for the bathroom again. But he swears he hears a soft whisper, something so strikingly similar in distaste and coldness to his last remark that goosebumps break out on his skin at his seemingly dead voice.

"Me too."


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis, the bad seed. They sneak out to a party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My growth and development exam today broke me

Louis takes the long way around the living room to the kitchen when the sudden thought occurs to him that Harry might already be in there. This way, he can hide behind the wall and check before just sauntering in for a snack. It's only been a couple of hours since they had that spat over him intruding on his personal phone call, and he has no doubt that Harry's still pissed. He was quiet at dinner, glaring down at his plate as if he wanted it to explode under the stare, and Louis' sure that it'd have been directed at him had their parents not been there too. Ever since that incident on the couch, they've been more careful to hide their hatred towards each other but Louis doesn't think they're fooling anyone.

Unfortunately for him, his dad is already in on his routine of watching telly on the couch, and he has to walk past his dark silhouette to reach the kitchen. He debates just turning around and going back upstairs, but then his stomach growls, gnawing inside him. Screw it. He's going in. His bare feet pad quietly on the carpet, barely audible to his own ears over the hum of the television set, but his movement is apparently caught out of the corner of his eye and his dad's head is turning towards him. Damn. He almost made it.

Looking around the edge of the wall and into the small room with shiny, chrome appliances, he can see that Harry's not in there after all, and he hates that he had to have been caught sneaking around like he's walking on thin ice. Louis smiles bashfully at his dad's questioning eyes, trying to play off that he's just goofing around. His dad doesn't say anything for a second and he attempts to move past him when he's stopped.

"Louis?"

He mutters a silent, "shit", but turns to face the deep voice anyway. "Yeah dad?"

His thumb taps the volume button on the remote, adjusting it to a lower amplification and pivoting his body. "Is there something going on? Why are you creeping around?" He grimaces at him. "Is it because of Harry?"

Louis wants to lie - brush it off so he can just have a banana or something to settle his fatigue. But lying to his dad feels so wrong. They've always been really close. To the point where Louis' not afraid to tell or ask him anything. The birds and the bees, boy advice...almost everything. There's only one thing he doesn't know, that he's kept a secret in fear of how he'd react, and that's the fact that he gets the occasional shove from his teammates. And looking into his gray eyes now, he doesn't feel he could flat out lie without feeling sinful.

"Yes," he sighs. He looks down at his bare feet, wiggling his toes in the plush floor covering. "I did something bad, dad. I ruined our chances of being friends. I just...I don't want to talk to him. That's why I was sneaking around, I mean."

His dad knits his eyebrows in concern and pats the seat to his right, Louis' spot. He knows what Louis likes. But even his spot can't cheer him up this time. He feels horrible about what he did and no amount of sulking in the couch cushion is going to make Harry forgive him. He should've just walked away when he had the chance. He should've known that something like this would happen when he hesitated in the doorway.

"Louis, I think we need to talk about this."

Louis hesitates, posture tense in uneasiness. "Actually . . . can we do it tomorrow? I'm kind of hungry -"

"Louis."

His lips purse at the authoritative tone he adds whenever he wants Louis to obey his demands. He doesn't use it often. Only when he actually tries to be the strict parent. Louis settles down where his hand was obediently.

"Now tell me," he starts, reaching over to brush Louis' messy fringe out of his face gently. "I know it's only been a day but why can't you boys try to get along? You've never even met him before this, and I know that that's my fault, but the moving in thing was kind of a spur of the moment decision. It was too tough to be in a relationship when we live so far away from each other, and we thought it would be a good idea to try living together, but I'm starting to question whether it was a good idea. You guys seem to hate each other more than any other siblings I've seen, and I'm sorry but I really don't understand why. I'd like it if you could give me some insight here." There's a small frown on his lips and Louis' stomach clenches.

He can't help but grumble a quiet, "He's not my brother." It slips before he registers it, and he can see the frown on his dad's face deepen. He clearly thinks it's not going to work to be in a relationship with Harry's mum if the two of them can't get along, and he can kind of see why he would think that. He probably doesn't want to feel like he has to babysit them all the time just to make sure they don't kill each other. That's probably the worst thing to experience as a parent: not being able to keep his child happy in his own home.

"Maybe he can be," he speculates quietly, expression hopeful. "Maybe you'll end up liking each other. My brother and I growing up used to fight a lot but we'd always find a way to figure it out."

Louis feels like scuttling under a rock and just hiding from everybody. Even his dad is starting to sound like Niall. He's more private about it than Niall is, just quietly encouraging him and for better reasons other than telling him he's acting like a twat, but it still makes him uncomfortable that so many people are relying on, prompting, for this relationship to work out and he can't deliver.

"I know, but I don't think talking about our feelings is going to help, dad. He really doesn't like me, and I don't know what to do. I've never had a sibling before."

"Work it out. Spend some quality time together and get to know each other. It's not that hard, Lou. I don't know what you did or claimed you did, but he can't keep a grudge forever and I'm sure he'll realize that soon enough." His dad rubs a hand on his arm soothingly. "He really is a sweet boy when he wants to be."

Louis accidentally snorts at that last comment, sweet probably the last word he would use to describe Harry. His dad narrows his eyes at the outburst - warning him about being nice, and he exhales exasperatedly, thumbing the cool upholstery underneath him.

"God, dad. I'm trying, okay? It's all just happening too fast right now. He doesn't want to be here, he didn't hesitate to tell me that, and I don't think there's anything I could do to change that because he won't listen to anything I say. Maybe he's possible of being sweet to you or somebody else, but it doesn't seem like he's going to be warming up to me anytime soon." He catches his tongue after that though, not adding his extra thought that he reminds him of a brooding three year old who doesn't get a toy he wants.

His dad contemplates his words for a second, rubbing the spot just above his eyebrow. "He won't listen to you, huh?" Louis shakes his head. "Well maybe he'll listen to his mother than. Why don't we do something as a family? I can have his mum talk to him and we can try and sort this out."

"What do you mean, do something as a family?" 

"How about we go out to eat tomorrow night?" He proposes. "We can go to a nice restaurant and just pretend to be a family for a few hours. Maybe that will change his mind. Maybe it'll change your mind. I expect you to be on your best behavior of course as I'm not the only one who knows about your strained relationship with Harry, and I know you're better than this. You're usually so well-mannered and decent, and I think you're more than capable of doing it for the likes of Harry."

Louis just stares. An hour - hour and a half in a dark restaurant, next to Harry. That sounds like hell. For more than one reason. Help me, God.

"Fine. Can I eat now?"

*********

"Harry, come on! Let's go! We're going to be late!" No answer. "If you're not out here in the next two minutes, I'm leaving you!"

Louis opens the door, carving his keys out of the bowl with his fingers and sticks his house key in the knob, jiggling it. It takes him a good minute to get it so that the handle locks in his grip and, by that time, Harry is jogging down the hallway, bag bouncing against his side. He heads for the garage door before noticing Louis' figure standing by the front door and furrows his brow.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?" 

Well, at least he's not ignoring him anymore. Maybe his dad was right about the grudge thing. "Niall's taking us, c'mon. He's already been waiting in the driveway for like seven minutes."

His red, plump lips twitch downwards as he walks slowly to the front door, eyeing the keys in his hand. "Why?"

"I can't drive; I'm crippled."

"Fine, but . . . why can't I drive us to school? It's only like ten minutes. Why'd you ask him to drive us?"

Louis raises an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?" After the stunt he pulled yesterday after practice, he's not letting him anywhere near his front seat again. That might've been a one time thing, but he's not taking any chances. Harry seems to sense that he did something wrong as his eyes drop slightly. He's still got the shadow of bruises under his eyes. "And I didn't ask him. He offered and I said yes."

He closes the door behind Harry sharply and jogs ahead of him, sliding into the passenger side next to Niall. It's warm in the car and Niall's on his phone when he shuts the car door, but he puts it away as soon as he notices that he's there. Whereas, Harry takes his precious time dragging his large feet to the back seat, for some reason, passing the door and going all the way around to the other side to sit on the seat behind the passenger seat. That's weird. He seemed to like Niall alright yesterday.

"Hey, Lou." Louis hums in acknowledgement. "I heard that Malik is throwing a party on Friday. You want to go? I know they're not really your thing, but I think you could let out some stress. You've been freaking out about tests all week."

Louis looks out the window on his side, observing a woman walking a large dog on the less than ideal sidewalks. "Doesn't matter if I want to. We'll never get invited Niall, you know that." Zayn is popular, a lady killer. He's not going to want a gay nerd like Louis to come, and once again he's aware of the way he tends to drag everyone he's close to down with him. Niall could've been popular if he hadn't given it up to be Louis' friend. He could've gone to parties like that.

"Aw, c'mon, Lou. Have a little faith. We're seniors. We could still get invited." Louis just shrugs.

Niall glances over at him quickly then pulls into the parking lot, parking towards the front of the school. He shifts gears and reaches down on the passenger side to grab a paper sack, thrusting it at him. "I got you the usual."

"Sweet. Thanks, Ni."

"What?" A deep, slow voice drawls from behind him. "Are you selling drugs? Didn't know you had it in you, Blondie."

Niall just glances in the rear view mirror. They still have a good twenty minutes till school starts, and he doesn't think any of them want to move from the warm car when it's this cold. Louis rummages in the bag and pulls out a coffee and a donut. Not exactly healthy, but he doesn't care. That's what football is for. A pale hand suddenly reaches over from Niall's side and pulls out another donut, handing it backwards to Harry. He looks unimpressed.

"You want one?"

Harry's lips curl into a humorless smirk and he plucks the donut from his grip. Niall shoots him a hopeful look like he thinks he can bribe Harry to like him with food. But then they hear the mechanical whine of the window opening and Harry chucks the donut onto the lot two spaces down. Louis looks in the side mirror in disbelief and his face is back to a blank slate. Maybe he's not a fan of carbs.

"What the hell?" Niall mutters. "He threw my donut."

Louis shrugs as if to say, I told you so, then twists in his seat to try and get Harry's attention. "Our parents want us to go on this . . . family thing tonight. Wasn't my choice; I was blackmailed." He picks a sprinkle off his donut, rolling it between his fingers before popping it in his mouth. It's true though. He was kind of blackmailed emotionally. "To bond or some shit."

His head lulls from the window to look at him briefly then back towards the glass. "Fine." Ah. Always with the one-worded answers.

"Louis." Niall elbows him harshly, voice low. "You could ask politely."

"I could." He gets another elbow to his side. "Ow."

It's quiet for a while, the only sound being the quiet flow of air from the vents. Then he feels a puff of hot air hit his ear and he jumps slightly before realizing that it's just Harry. "Do you always let your girlfriend fight your battles for you?"

Louis ignores that comment and the will to shove his donut in his big, fat mouth, instead jerking his head away to the other side of the headrest. He needs another coffee.

Niall looks behind him, probably at Harry. "Hey, Harry. What lunch do you have?"

"C."

"Do you want to have lunch with us? We have room at our table for one more. I'm sure Louis won't mind." 

Louis chokes on a piece of his donut. "Actually -"

"Alright."

He starts at the straightforward answer Harry shoots him. He certainly didn't expect Harry to actually agree, but Niall smiles warmly at the boy in the back seat before turning back and giving Louis a look. Louis flashes Harry his best fake grin.

"I couldn't imagine anything better."


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy families stay together 🤞🏻

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know it’s sad when it’s 40 degrees out, and you actually want to be outside because it’s relatively nice.

Louis shoves his small hands under his thick thighs, feeling the sharp, cool sting of the metal beneath them even through his mittens. He planned to be sitting out today after his injury and everything. He even had everything packed in his bag in advance the night before - but it's just not enough for the chilly English weather. The only thing that could make it worse would be if it started to snow. His legs are numb and his nose feels, disgustingly, like it's frozen with snot. He envies the players who prance around in front of him as if mocking him. He really should've brought another jacket.

Distantly, he can hear the faint voices of his team at the other end of the field, but it's unintelligible and he struggles to maintain interest. It's so fucking cold, he's frozen, he's tired, and his leg seems to be getting stiffer by the minute. The list just keeps getting longer. It does get him thinking about his bandage however, and he frowns, wondering if it'd be wise to change it or not.

Ah, what the hell? He's just sitting here wasting time and energy anyway. Louis attempts to pry the first mitten off using his other hand, but it seems to be near impossible with his frigid fingers, so he settles for using his teeth and it comes off hesitantly. He grumbles incoherently under his breath. What's the point of wearing mittens if they can't even keep your bloody hands warm?

Earlier, towards the beginning of practice, Louis had pulled his homework from his bag and spread it across the bench, pencil in hand and ready to tackle his learning. It didn't take him long to realize that wasn't going to happen. He had felt like a little kid, trying to hold the utensil in his mitten and shakily scratch out some words that turned out to be mostly squiggles. He had quickly dismissed the idea of getting anything productive done and crammed the papers back into his bag with a sigh. He doesn't understand why he can't just go home. Why does he have to stay after school and watch when he's injured? Is he learning anything from watching? No. Is he healing any faster? No, he's probably healing slower with the way his blood feels frozen. It just doesn't make sense to him.

Louis sucks in a sharp breath, wincing as he rolls up the leg of his sweatpants just above the bandage wrapped securely around his knee. He's immediately assaulted with a blast of cold air as soon as his skin is exposed, and he almost yanks it back down. He shudders violently, teeth clanking noisily. Using his hands, he frantically feels along the ground beneath the bench, running over the crispy, dry grass until they land on the first aid kit.

A whistle pierces through the air, and Louis looks up as he unclasps the case. The players all sprint gratefully towards the sideline where a bunch of plastic bottles are dumped carelessly on the turf, diving to take a quick drink and bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet. Ha, they think they're cold, he spits bitterly in his head. They should try spending five minutes on the bench with him. He's quick to find Niall hovering at the edge of the group, sending him concerned stares, but when he looks closely, Harry's tall frame isn't among the mingling bodies. Weird. He could've sworn he saw him earlier. He's probably just hiding under one of the many hats bobbing on the field. Louis waves at Niall to assure him he's fine.

The kit in front of him is laid out exactly like how he remembers it being yesterday, so it's not hard to find the roll of gauze that Niall used. He sets it beside his hip and gives a quick blow to his hands, scrubbing them before digging his fingers under the edge of the bandage and slowly peeling it off. It already looks kind of old and dirty - the white stained red, brown, and maybe a light yellow. The final length of wrap sticks almost painfully to his skin, and he grimaces. Just yank it off like a bandaid, Louis. Finally, it snaps off and he's left with a healing, but pretty gruesome, wound. After cleaning it out with some more of that spray that makes him want to cry and scream at the same time and some wipes, it doesn't look nearly as big, nor as bad, as he first gave it credit for, and he exhales in relief. It's actually healing rather nicely, leaving mostly just a scab to heal.

He prods it gently, deciding that he probably needs to rewrap it as it still feels tender to the touch. Repeating what he remembers Niall doing yesterday, he ends up with a bandage that looks remarkably like the one he was previously wearing - but cleaner. He makes sure to give himself some leeway this time around though, at his knee, so he can bend it if he absolutely has to. It's painful the first couple of times he flexes the joint, but eventually the soreness dissipates and he feels more liberated with the extra flexibility.

Once Louis' certain that it won't unravel, he jerks his sweatpants back down and shivers. He really, really wished he had thought to bring another jacket. Even with his oversized sweater covering his mitten-clad hands and his beanie tugged all the way over his ears, he still feels chilled to the bone. He frowns at the ground, bobbing his good leg up and down. Just thirty more minutes until practice is over; he can make it.

Footsteps crunch on the ground in front of him, a pair of black and orange cleats entering his field of sight, and Louis looks up with enlarged eyes. The tall frame floats above him for a second, momentarily blocking the cool air, and he savors it. In the pale light of the afternoon sun, his eyes appear that greenish-gray color again.

Louis' reminded of the lunch they shared earlier that day. Harry did sit with them, as promised, but it wouldn't have really mattered if he didn't. He sat directly across from Louis, took one look at the food on his tray and shoved it away, whipping out his phone to text under the table instead. He couldn't exactly blame him for being repulsed by the school's food - it's pretty inedible - but he wonders why he even bothered to sit with them if he wasn't going to pay attention. Louis' not blind enough to not see the couple of girls eyeing him up - probably more than eager to give him a place to sit, but he seemed oblivious. Niall, in particular, seemed offended by his lack of interest, but Louis was used to it and he just shrugged when he tried to complain. He had tried to warn him that he couldn't be reasoned with. He really did. He wonders what happened to Zayn and Liam too. Maybe they don't have C lunch?

Suddenly a soft, gray lump collides with his lap, and he scrambles to keep it from slipping off his leg. It's blissfully warm and soft in his hands, startling him. Louis grabs the edges of the fabric and holds it up slightly to see. It's a sweatshirt with a logo for some London football club he's never heard of, and when he turns it to see the back, his last name is printed in thick, black lettering. STYLES. His mum wasn't lying about his football background then.

He looks up, catching Harry's narrowed gaze, and he opens his mouth to thank him. It's a little unexpected - a little strange coming from his stepbrother, but it's an appreciated gesture nonetheless, and he should really thank him. He had to have run all the way into the locker room to get it for him. But he cuts him off before he can utter a noise.

"Don't read into it."

With that last comment swirling around in Louis' brain, he twirls sharply and jogs back onto the pitch, his low voice vibrating in the frosty air.

*********

Louis knows that Harry has told him not to read into the favor he did for him out on the football field, but he really couldn't help it. He's a curious little shit, and he always feels like he needs to know the deep-root causes of everything that people do. If he doesn't, and he cares enough, he'll spend hours rolling it over and over in his head until he either passes out from exhaustion or forgets about it altogether. That's really the only way to satisfy him because people are just so foreign to him.

So sitting on a nice leather booth at a warm, fancy restaurant and being stuck uncomfortably close to his attractive stepbrother doesn't really help his mind forget about it. He had liked to think that his dad was joking when he suggested that they all go out to eat, but the nightmare turns out to be all too real. So there he is, bum scooted all the way against the wall and his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harry doing the same thing, but he's dragging his nails lazily over his arm every few seconds instead.

Both of them were forced to dress up more than usual, and judging by the grating movement of Harry's jaw, he doesn't like it anymore than he does. His dad said that his black skinny jeans were fine as long as he didn't wear a ratty t-shirt to match, so he settled on a simple, light-blue button up that matched the color of his eyes quite closely. Harry's dressed similarly with black jeans and a white button up. The only difference is that Harry's skin resembles gold against the white, while Louis just feels dorky.

For the most part, Harry has been fairly respectable - only sending him a couple of harsh glares - and Louis wonders if his mum had that talk with him that she promised his dad. Or if that's what inspired him to find one sprinkle of compassion and give him his sweatshirt when he was shaking on a cold bench, but he owes her big time if it was.

The meal was quiet too, their parents the only ones doing the talking. They both had sat on the same side of the booth, leaving the two boys to sit and pick at their expensive food in silence. He's not even sure that their parents know just how awkward - how much tension lay thick between their shoulders - when they're talking so animatedly to each other about funny things that happened at work or sharing embarrassing stories of the two when they were kids. He's also not sure if it's the awkwardness or the fact that his dad just told the whole table how he used to run around the house naked, but either way, his face feels hot.

With their parents so easily distracted, Harry takes the time to lean into his ear. He doesn't even remember him getting this close. He must've slid over when he was stabbing his vegetables and wishing they were him instead.

"They want a happy, bullshit family? Let's give them that." His long fingers thieve a chip off his plate, and he nibbles on it, still a little too close for comfort and breathing hotly into his ear. He gets a whiff of shampoo. "Just go with it."

Harry scoots back over, and his eyes dart across the table. Louis follows his gaze to see their parents smiling hopefully and then back to see his thick eyebrows raise in question. Oh, he sees.

Louis licks his lips and pouts his brow into a mildly irritated tilt, reaching out to grab a chip off Harry's plate in return. "Oi. Don't touch my chips."

A smile forms across his pink lips, and Louis' heart freezes for a second until he realizes it's fake. Pretend, right. They're just pretending. He hates how he has to remind himself of that when Harry doesn't look even the least bit affected about lying to their parents. "I hardly think it'll matter. You've got plenty."

There's a challenging twinkle to his vibrant eyes, and Louis nearly huffs at it. He's playing this as a game now. He's basically asking Louis to make a move, do better than that. He'd like to think that he can, so he squints at Harry's plate, taking in the half-gone, juicy slab of meat in the middle.

"How's the steak?"

The corner of his mouth twitches up into a quick smirk, and he thinks he might've fallen into a trap. "It's really good. You want some?"

Louis starts to grab his fork. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

Harry cuts him off a small chunk, and then the meat is being forced against his lips; he drops his fork. His lips part on instinct, awed at the sudden advance, and he knows there's a light color to his cheeks. Louis knows it's all supposed to be an act and everything, but this seems excessive. He bites it, nose scrunching as he tries not to drag his lips over the metal. His bottom lip nudges the tip of the fork, but apparently Harry doesn't notice because he doesn't wipe it off. He just goes back to eating quietly.

He can see the pleased smile gracing his dad's face, and Harry lifts his eyebrows smugly. He wants to say that it was an amateur move at best, but he can't do that. It was brilliant, and he can't argue that. Even if it was foreign and weird to them, they sold it.

A white envelope slides across the table and slows in front of Louis, drawing his attention. He picks it up carefully, running his fingers over the crisp paper. Frowning, he glances up at his dad, who's positively beaming. It almost hurts, like he's looking directly into the sun. "What's this?"

"Well, seeing as both of you boys have been on your best behavior and that you're actually trying to get along, I want to reward you with this. It's nothing really. I've been planning it for a while, but I thought I'd hold onto it until I knew that you absolutely deserved it."

His heart thumps quickly and heavily against his ribcage as he tears across the top of the envelope. A certain heat hovers above his right shoulder, telling him that Harry's just as intrigued by the mysterious proposition, and he almost shoos him away for how nervous he's making him. His fingers quake slightly as he pulls out glossy tickets. He freezes.

"Holy fuck," he whispers.

"What?" Harry questions urgently, leaning in even closer to touch his chest to his shoulder in an attempt to see. "What is it?"

He faintly hears his dad scold him. "Louis, language."

Louis' face breaks out in a shit-eating grin, and he practically dives across the table to hug his dad, probably whacking Harry in the face with his elbow. He plops back down in his seat like a coil repressing, and he practically bounces with energy. This has been his dream ever since he was a little kid - to see a professional football game - and now he finally gets to. "You got Manchester United tickets! You've got to be joking! This is insane! Thank you!"

Louis suddenly freezes, smile dropping slightly. "Wait, but this game is in two weeks. What about finals?" He assumes that they'll just leave right after the semifinal next Friday, but if they win, they'll have to be back before the Friday after that for the final.

"Don't you worry about that, Lou. I worked it all out with your coach, and he said that it will be perfectly fine as long as you follow his instructions. He said that he'll send a simple exercise plan to help keep you boys in shape." His dad leans forward, folding his hands as if he can barely contain his excitement himself just by announcing the decision. "Not only do you have the game to look forward to, but he also agreed to let us stay another four days in Manchester! We're going to be staying in a cabin, as a family! Isn't that great?"

Louis' eyes immediately fall to Harry. He's staring intently at the side of his face already, but he looks away when he's caught. He thinks about how they'll be stuck in the same cabin, that will no doubt be much smaller than their house, for five days, but he brushes it off as soon as the thought comes. Not even Harry could ruin this moment for him.


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis’ hurting. Harry wants to help but he doesn’t know how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go into work like three times today…annoyed but at least I’m getting some hours.

"Mr. Tomlinson, could you spare a few moments?

The swarm of students around him file out, obnoxiously loud as they gossip and whine on about today's lesson. A couple of them shoot him snickers as he passes, obviously having heard their teacher call him aside, and Louis rolls his eyes irritably. This has been happening to him all day. It's nearly the last week of school and his teachers have been pulling his aside, beaming about how good of a student he is and how they're so proud of their most impressionable student. Apparently the news of his scholarship has gotten out. It's honestly kind of tedious. The praise was nice at first, but it loses meaning when all of them say the same thing.

Louis shovels his books into his bag and scoots in his chair under the desk, nudging up his glasses. As soon as the door at the front of the room closes, the air is engulfed in a warm silence that's pleasing to the ears. This is his last class of the day thankfully, so he just has to muster another speech before he goes to footie practice.

"I think I can spare a few moments," he mutters, weaving his way between the desks to the front where his teacher is sitting calmly in his chair, one leg crossed over the other.

He's a balding man of about fifty with silver hair and a scruffy beard that makes him want to take a razor to it while he's sleeping. He always thought beards were horribly gross with how bristly the hairs are and how easy it is to get food stuck in it. A little stubble is something he can live with though. In fact, he thinks he looks more mature with a light dusting on his own chin, but full on beards make him cringe. His teacher lowers his small glasses, sharp grey eyes peering over the rim and a small smile decorating his lips.

"Ah, Mr. Tomlinson. Doing alright? Are you excited about the fact school's almost over? I heard you got a full ride to London University. That's very impressive."

Louis hums out a soft sigh. "That's correct, sir. I'm going to be a Chemistry major."

His smile deepens. "That's quite the ambitious career, Louis. You must be very proud." Louis nods. "Good. You've definitely earned it. You're a diligent worker, and I thought I'd congratulate you. I can't say I won't miss one of my best students."

It's always the same. Always the same meaning, same words - just in a different order. Louis wonders how much trouble he'd get in if he rolled his eyes right now. Probably not much. As they all say, he's the "best". It genuinely doesn't help his case of being at the very bottom of the social chain at school.

"Thanks, Mr. Hurley. That means a lot." Louis throws in a fake grin just to sugarcoat it. "I can dedicate some of the success to my amazing teachers."

Mr. Hurley places his glasses back on his nose and sits forward, rifling through the papers on his desk. The smile is still present on his face, and when his fingers stop on a stack of papers, he knows what's coming. He groans softly. Thankfully, he doesn't catch it, pulling out the top packet from under the rubber band and offering it out for Louis to take.

"You've probably already got a lot on your plate being the captain of the football team and with Semifinals and all. But if you would like some extra practice for the final in a couple of weeks, feel free to do this packet if you'd like. It covers every unit we've covered this term so don't be afraid to review it a little. I think it could be very beneficial - not that I really think you need it all that much."

Louis plucks it from his hand. "Thanks. I'll look at it later." He glances briefly at the clock as he stuffs it in his bag. "I really have to run."

He waves his hand dismissively, face back to professionalism. "Don't let me hold you back, Mr. Tomlinson. I understand that you're a teenager and would rather be doing better things. I also know how busy you are." Louis thanks him and scrambles out of the classroom.

Soon Louis is jogging down the nearly empty hallways of school towards the direction of the locker room with a frown. He's gotten so many extra papers that are meant to "help" him study today, and he feels like screaming. He knows as soon as he sees it, he'll be tempted to do all of it, and he has no doubt that it'll take hours and hours. But he's already so busy . . . He has football everyday after school and he has his game next Friday. He hardly has time to breathe anymore, and all this extra work is no help.

Louis heaves open the door to the locker room, dumping his heavy bag on the bench next to a half-naked Harry. He doesn't even bother to look up at him, puffing out an annoyed, exhausted breath as he spins his combination. Skipping practice today sounds like a rather pleasant arrangement, but then he figures he's been out for long enough. He's not getting any fitter by sitting on the bench unfortunately.

In record breaking time, Louis has his locker open. He nearly rips off his shirt, yanking it over his head and chucking it in his locker. His practice jersey is still a little stained and beat up from a couple of days ago, but he doesn't care and when he pulls out his socks, he gets a whiff of stale sweat that makes his nose crinkle. It's about time he took them home and washed them. Within thirty seconds, Louis' dressed and shoving his feet into his cleats, feeling a sharp gaze on him. Louis looks up and scowls.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

Harry snorts, dipping his gaze down to do up his shoelaces. His thick mane of curls drapes down to hide most of his face and his jersey gets pulled to show the top part of his bare chest. He's got tattooed birds jutting from his collarbones.

"Whatever, Shorty."

Louis' already pissed off, so he doesn't even care that he called him Short. He's stressed enough as it is. "Fuck off, Harry. I'm not in the mood."

His head snaps up at that, green eyes swimming with surprise and a flicker of irritation. Louis' tone is dismissive and borderline dead as he thinks about all the shit he has to do these next few weeks. His chest is clenched in anxiety and he can feel himself getting riled up.

Louis takes off his glasses and tosses them haphazardly, slamming his locker. He bounds out of the locker room, sprinting on the field. Normally, he'd wait for Niall to catch up or vise versa, but the blonde boy is gone with a fever. Brilliant day to be gone really. Louis huffs. Today's not turning out to be one of his best.

The team does a brief warm up, at the coach's discretion, and Louis' already breaking a sweat. He really thought his knee would be healed enough by now, but it really fucking burns when he runs and he feels ridiculous with the way he's limping. His bandage is showing on his knee since his footie shorts only go a little past mid-thigh, and when he steps a little funny during their scrimmage, he can see a small stain of blood spreading slowly through his bandage. Oh, that's just great.

He grimaces, half jogging, half walking over to his coach. "Um, coach? I've kind of got a problem. My knee opened up again."

Frustration flashes across his coach's face as he receives the news, his hands reaching to rub over his face. He lowers his head and frowns, upset that he's still managing to disappoint people. "Alright. Okay, Tomlinson. I'm sad to have to say I think you'll need to sit out again. Working it will just make it worse."

Louis swallows. "What about the team, coach? I'm their captain. If I'm out, then we have no one to help organize the formations."

His coach ponders it for a few heartbeats, scratching at his chin lightly. He almost looks bashful or maybe disappointed when he meets his eyes again. "I'm afraid we're going to have to temporarily reassign the position to someone else. I hope that's okay with you, Tomlinson. I'm just trying to do what's best for the team."

He knows it's the right thing, but he can't help but feel his mood drop again as he shoots him a fake smile. It seems he's been doing that a lot. He's not even sure if he knows who the real Louis is anymore. 

"No, it's fine. I completely understand. I would do the same thing in your position. It's what's best for the team."

Pleased with his answer, his coach blows the whistle, nearly screaming for the players to come in. Louis jumps, nearly covering his ears at how loud it was. He must be cutting practice early, Louis thinks as the players grudgingly form a half-circle around Louis, allowing him to kind of slip into the crowd and blend in. He stands by a taller boy who's nicer, and when he looks up, he can see Harry roaming over the boys as if looking for someone. Louis cowers closer to the boy on his left.

"Alright, lads. I regret to inform you that our captain is still out of sorts and not fit to play for a while yet. So graciously, he's offered to step down from his position for a little bit in the hopes that someone can take his place temporarily." He sees a couple of the players nudge each other jerkily, excitement and hope shining in their eyes. "So I'll be choosing said replacement for the next couple of days."

Louis looks down, scuffling the grass with his cleat. He thinks he can feel someone's gaze on him, but he doesn't think anything of it. They're probably all looking at him.

"Schmidt." His coach says the name of his main bully - the one who pushes him around the most and even goes out of his way to make sure Louis knows he doesn't like him. Louis flinches, whimpering softly. If he's the captain, then he's officially twenty times more dangerous. "You're the new captain."

His teammates rush to congratulate him with pats of encouragement, but Louis feels sick to his stomach, creeping away from the group silently. The smug twist to his lips has Louis squirming and swallowing uneasily because he knows he's never going to let Louis live this down. He prays to God that he doesn't turn around and see him standing further away from the group because Niall's not here and Niall is his protector. The bullies tend not to be as violent when Niall's constantly by his side. But he's gone, and Louis' blood runs cold.

Connor, that's his first name, slips away from his admirers to advance in on Louis. His eyes widen, but he keeps his ground. Maybe it won't be that bad today. Maybe he'll just get a few insults or a nudge. A boy can hope, right?

"M-May I help you?" He asks stiffly, hands clenched together tightly.

A smirk finds its way onto his lips. "How nice of you to give up your title for me, Lou. It means a lot. Really. The team seems quite happy too. They must be really pleased that they don't have to listen to a faggot for directions anymore."

Louis digs his nails into his palm, forcing a cocky smirk. Niall would be proud of him if he could see him now. "Guess they'll have to look a little harder for a captain then."

Fury twists all of his features and he takes an intimidating step forward, clearly pissed that Louis actually thought he had the audacity to make a snarky comment back. Louis feels his stomach clench in fear, but he swallows it down, attempting to make it look like it didn't affect him like it did. He knows he has the power to pound the fudge out of him if he wanted to.

Strong, large hands push against his chest and then he feels himself falling. He hits the ground awkwardly, his tailbone aching. He wants to scramble back up, but his dark eyes keep him pinned and cowering on the cold ground.

"Don't you ever fucking talk to me like that, fag. The next time I see you even look my way, you'll wish you were never born and you definitely will not return to be captain again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," he chokes out quietly, trembling slightly.

"Good," he spits harshly, jerking forward in a harsh step and laughing darkly when Louis flinches. 

Then he turns and leaves almost as quickly as it happened, a disgustingly satisfied smile on his lips. People like him make him embarrassed to be a part of the human race. He feels oddly proud for sticking up for himself though, and he leans his head back against the grass for a second, taking a couple breaths. He thinks he even feels himself smile a little. But that's short-lived when he hears someone clear their throat above him and his eyes shoot open, smile quickly vanishing.

Fuck, how much of that did he see?

The tall figure reaches down and grabs Louis' wrist, yanking him to his feet harshly. He doesn't let his arm go when he's standing, and Louis squirms. His fingers are tightly clenched and he gasps when he squeezes. He wonders if he should tell him that he's hurting him or if he already knows. His eyes blaze a flaming green. Oh shit. He's mad.

"What the hell was that?" He hisses. Yup, he definitely saw what happened. Dammit. He decides to play dumb.

"What was what?" He asks innocently, cocking his head to the side.

"Don't play dumb with me," he growls. His face is the poster-child for anger. If he thought Connor was scary, then Harry's a bloody horror movie. He doesn't like that look on his face. It doesn't suit him. In fact, he's not even really sure what he's mad about. It's not like he cares. "You know what I'm fucking talking about."

Louis goes to his instant defensive mechanism when he's terrified and uncertain: sass. "Don't worry about it. It's none of your fucking business." He rips his arm from his grip, frowning and rubbing the tender skin. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get dressed out."

A hand grabs his waist when he tries to move past. A couple fingers accidentally push up the material of his shirt as he wriggles and brush against his bare skin, uprooting some butterflies in his stomach, but he just continues to twist out of his grip, growling. "Don't touch me."

"Tell me what the fuck he said to you," he demands.

"No. It doesn't matter. He just wanted to consult me about some captain things. You wouldn't understand."

"And he plans on getting that information by pushing you?" He snorts condescendingly, nostrils flaring slightly. If Louis didn't know any better, he'd say he almost cares about the fact that he laid a hand on him. But that's ridiculous. Surely he has a reason for getting so worked over something so insignificant. He's not stupid though, and Louis knows he can't fool him into thinking it wasn't what it looked like.

"What?" He spits irritably. "Are you going to start pushing me around too? I already get enough of that shit."

His large hand tightens around his waist, surprisingly able to cover a lot of skin. He's so much bigger than Louis. It's not fair. Harry snarls. "Why do they push you?"

"Why do you care?" He shoots back, just as much bite to his own words.

Harry finally sneaks his hand off his waist, cracking his knuckles with a dark expression. "Bullying is not something I tolerate. Now tell me." His deep voice is so low and demanding that it sends chills down his spine. He feels himself giving in with a sigh.

"I suppose you'll find out one way or another." 

Louis feels uncomfortable with the way Harry's hawk-like stare is entirely focused on him. This is by far the most attention he's given him since they met, but it's far from friendly. His teeth grind together and his muscles are stiff and tense. He looks like he wants to hurt something. Or someone. The vein in his throat twitches. Louis licks his lips, taking a generous step backwards, and Harry thankfully doesn't follow him, seemingly able to sense that he's uncomfortable.

"I'm, uh, g-gay." He swallows when Harry doesn't even blink. "That's why they hurt me, I guess. They think it's unnatural, but I'm not ashamed. I like dick. I like it up the arse or whatever. I like boys. And I guess it's just a bit of bad luck that I happen to be a little obsessed with my grades as well."

Harry shakes his head with a deep frown gracing his features, pulling distractedly at his bottom lip as if he can't believe it. "That's fucked up."

Louis scowls angrily. "I didn't ask for your straight arse opinion."

He cocks a thick eyebrow at him. "I meant that it's fucked up that they're hurting you because you're gay."

"Oh."

Green eyes dart down to survey his bloody bandage, flaring again. "That wasn't an accident, was it?"

"I don't have to talk about this with you." Louis pushes his messy fringe out of his face, feeling a little more confident now that he knows the anger's not directed at him. "And frankly I don't know why you care."

"You have to tell someone. Who all knows?"

"Niall . . . And, um, you now, I guess."

"Louis, you're so stupid," he growls, a hint of maybe genuine concern lacing his voice. It's hard to say though because when he starts talking, he gets a little mesmerized. "How is anyone supposed to help you if you don't tell people what's going on?"

Louis squints. "I don't want help."

Harry frowns again, but Louis just walks the other way, done with their conversation. He doesn't want help. If he wanted to get help, he would've gotten help already. So why does everyone think he needs some kind of help? He only has a little over two weeks left of high school and pretty soon all these people will just be a blurry memory. It's just not worth it anymore.


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turning point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…I guess my boss died…  
> That’s what? The third person I’ve known who died recently…  
> It’s all good. It’s fine. Life is fleeting. Everything is a lie
> 
> Lol my old writing is so bad.

Louis will admit that the fact that Harry knows his deepest, darkest secrets - things his dad doesn't even know about him - makes his stomach curdle in nerves. He doesn't trust the lanky lad. His mind keeps whispering at him that he's going to rat him out as soon as he turns his back on him, and after the way he's treated him, that's kind of what he expected to happen. But, to his utter befuddlement, he kept his gorgeous mouth shut so far. Occasionally, he'll purse his lips or crack his knuckles absentmindedly, but that's about all the interaction they share for the next couple of days. He doesn't necessarily mind it. Although, he has to say he respects him for not butting into his life when he told him to stay out. He's still a little disturbed, but not unpleasantly so, by Harry's reaction. It was just so...strange.

He was finally able to remove his bandage last night, and the scab was truly frightening. It's certainly not a sight for sore eyes right now, but it's more of a cosmetic problem than a mechanical one. He can bend his knee and all that at least. And, most importantly, he can play. Now that he's mostly healed, he feels a little guilty for skipping the past couple of practices. It's not that he wants to because he happens to really love football, but because Connor would find some way to push him around, and he doesn't know how Harry's going to react. Sometimes it's just easier to run from your problems than face them.

The only good thing about the extra time is that he was able to make a little bit of a dent in his school work. In fact, he's already managed to complete two of the packets his teachers gave him and he feels prepared enough to write essays in both subjects. Not that he would unless he had to. He's not that geeky.

A soft creak interrupts his thoughts, and he glances up to see his stepbrother stalk to the other end of the couch before sitting down. He reaches down by his socked feet, pulling a throne pillow into his lap, emerald eyes burning into his skin. Louis sighs and fiddles with his pen.

"May I help you?"

"Nah, I'm good." His eyes flicker over him boredly, faltering at various points of multicolored skin. He smells clean, his curls damp and disheveled like he just took a shower. "Your jaw is getting better."

"Yeah, and?"

Harry drops his gaze to the notebook in his lap. "You blew off football practice to study?"

Louis taps the pen against his cheek, twirling it, annoyed. He's not captain anymore. It doesn't matter, and Harry shouldn't care. "And what if I did?"

"That's lame," he snorts.

"You're lame," Louis responds absentmindedly, scribbling in the margins of the page to pretend to be busy. Harry's spindly hand creeps into his view and snags the book away. "Hey!"

The curly-haired boy flips through the pages with an unamused expression. "You're not even doing anything...what the hell is this subject? It's like a different language."

"It's physics," he deadpans, flailing his hand out to grab it back. Harry lifts the notebook above his head, smirking when his fingers whiff it. Doesn't tolerate bullying, his arse. "Give it back, you dolt."

"Why would I do that when we're having so much fun?"

Louis huffs. "For someone who claims to hate bullying, you sure act like a jerk."

Harry's mouth flattens, lips pressing together so tightly that they turn white. He lowers the notebook just enough for Louis to jump a bit in his seat and grab it. Louis wonders if he hit a soft spot. Hauling his pillow closer to his chest, he angles his body away from him, clearly trying to dismiss his comment as he turns on the television. "You overreact."

"Do I? Because I think you're quite the hypocrite."

His fingers tighten around the embroidered edges of the pillow, forcing the stuffing towards the middle, and he tosses the remote carelessly on the floor. "I never pushed you," he snarls. As if that's the only thing that constitutes as bullying.

"Physical bullying isn't the only type of bullying. You call me names."

"I was just joking," he breathes, green eyes rolling up. "Siblings do that. They piss each other off. Jesus. Why do you have to take everything so literally?"

Louis frowns, closing his notebook and shoving it on the table. "We don't have to fight." He remembers his dad's words. How they could actually get along now if they tried. Maybe he should make his intentions clear now before he hates him any more than he already does. "Not all siblings fight."

"I didn't say anything about fighting. As far as I'm concerned, this is not fighting. This is hardly considered banter."

"Maybe not in your opinion," he mutters quietly, wiping his palms on his sweatpants and quirking his glasses. Harry turns his gaze from the television and scans him. He swears he sees his expression soften for a heartbeat. But looking at him, he doesn't think Harry is capable of changing for the likes of him. "But I'd really just rather we ignore each other from now on, if we can't get along."

His throat bobs. "What makes you think we're not getting along?" Louis gives him the nastiest glare he can muster, and Harry recoils. "I thought we were doing okay."

"I can tell that you've never had siblings before."

"What would you know? You've never had siblings either," he retorts, sitting up straighter. He has a couple small water stains on his gray shirt that dripped off the tips of his hair, and when he ruffles them out of his face, Louis gets sprayed some, even from the distance he's sitting away from him. "You could be very wrong."

Louis bites his lip. "I've read books."

Harry scoffs. "Of course. Do you always trust books to tell you everything you need to know? Because I'm pretty sure they can't teach you how to interact with people. You have what? Like one friend?"

"The offer of ignoring each other is still on the table," he grumbles irritably. Frankly, Harry's starting to grate on his nerves. He can't just assume he knows what siblings do. Harry sighs.

"Fine. I'm sorry."

Louis perks up a little. Now they're getting somewhere. "Sorry for what?"

"For calling you names or whatever. I didn't mean it in a derogatory way. And I didn't know it offended you."

He gives his arm a pinch, surprised to find that he feels the sharp sting that accompanies it. So he's not dreaming. Harry's actually apologizing to him. His green eyes are actually trained on him, not over his shoulder or at the ground - on him. He never thought he'd live to see this day. His mouth parts, spluttering a little. "T-Thank you."

Harry grunts. "Whatever."

"You know, saying whatever doesn't make you look any cooler," he quips hotly. "It actually makes you look more like a dick."

Snickering, he props his feet up on the table. "What was it that you said yesterday? That you like dick?"

"I don't like your dick-like face." Louis reaches forward and shoves his feet off the table, but they just spring back into place, and he scowls in disgust, "We eat on that table sometimes. I don't want my food to taste like foot fungus."

Harry pulls his foot into his lap, rolling his sock off before tossing it at Louis' head. It hits his hair before sagging onto his shoulder. Louis screeches, muttering, "Ew, ew, ew." Using the very tips of his fingers, he picks it off and drops it on the floor, shuddering in disgust. "Now my face is going to have fungus!" Harry snorts.

"Drama queen."

"Caveman."

"Baby."

"Arsehole."

"Shorty."

"Dick."

Louis chomps down on his lip when he sees the corners of Harry's mouth twitch once in amusement. His posture seems to have eased a little, leaning forward instead and placing his elbows on his bony knees. He can't tell whether they're getting along right now or if they're still fighting. Niall and him joke like that all the time, but he doesn't know Harry's preferences.

Harry tilts his head, studying him under his lidded eyes. "Why haven't you told your dad?"

"About what?"

He taps his jaw twice, grimacing as if he doesn't feel comfortable saying it out loud. Louis runs his fingers over his jaw, feeling the short, scratchy hair there, and he has a weird, sudden desire to know whether Harry shaves or if his face is naturally that smooth because he's cursed with fast growing facial hair, and he doesn't remember ever seeing stubble on his face. "That."

Louis sighs. "Because he'll do something extreme. Like pull me out of school two weeks before it ends, and I kind of really want to graduate." That's not entirely the reason, but it's a part of it, so at least it's not a lie.

"I find it hard to believe that this has just recently started happening."

The front door squeaks open, the boys' heads turning to see their parents stroll in, grocery bags in hand. His dad kisses Harry's mum quickly on the mouth before slipping off his dress shoes. Hair rumpled and shirt wrinkled, he removes his jacket and loosens his tie. It's a foreign sight to see his dad so domestic with someone else. But it's kind of nice too. He looks happy. Harry's mum disappears into the kitchen and he knows he doesn't have much time before his dad intrudes on their chat.

"Hey, boys."

Louis leans in close to Harry, blocking his dad's view with the back of his head so he can't read their discussion. He hooks his finger, telling him to lean in too and Harry obeys, a bewildered expression on his face - like he can't believe he's voluntarily inviting him in. "Look," he whispers quietly. "I'm not going to lie to you. It's been going on for a while. Like three years. And, yes, my dad doesn't know, but I really don't want him to know. Especially now. He'll think I didn't care enough to tell him."

"Why didn't you just tell him before?" Harry's breath smells like candy-canes, and his hair reeks of some fresh, manly-scented shampoo. "Three years is a long time to hold a secret. Didn't you want it to stop?"

"I was embarrassed," he admits. "He knows I'm gay, but he already treats me like a kid. He'll think I'm helpless if he finds out. And I don't like pity. It's only two more weeks. I can survive."

"Okay." Harry flutters his gaze down then back up. Then he jumps backwards a few feet, startled when his dad enters the living room. His eyes look a little wild, and Louis wonders how his dad scared him so much when he has a clear view of the front door.

"Lou, how was school, bud?" His father settles down on the couch next to him, ruffling his hair. "Did you get to play today?"

"He skipped practice," Harry blurts. Louis screams on the inside, giving him a steely look, and Harry quickly realizes he made a mistake. He quirks his eyebrows. "Oops."

His dad grabs Louis' shoulders, holding him out at arm's length to meet his eyes. "You skipped practice? Why, Lou? You never skip! Does your coach know about this?" He has that glaze in his gray eyes that tell him he's going to be grounded. Shit. Harry probably did that on purpose.

"Coach said he could go home today," Harry amends quietly. "I didn't mean to say skip." He looks uncomfortable lying to his dad, playing with his fingers and chewing on his lip, and Louis feels a little bad dragging him into this, but his respect for the boy is inflating exponentially knowing he just lied to save his arse. And even his dad looks impressed.

"Oh, alright. But make sure to text me next time, Lou, so I know where you are."

"I'm sorry, dad. I just forgot." When his dad isn't looking, he makes sure to lock eyes with Harry, smiling slightly. He huffs, seemingly indifferent, but the corner of his lip pull up into a smirk, dimple flashing into view before mouthing, "You owe me."

Maybe he's not so bad.


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t hate you”

Saturday doesn't come soon enough for Louis' liking. Things have gotten better between Harry and him, but he wouldn't call their 'relationship'...well, a relationship at all. They just kind of coexist and deal with it, and the two boys hardly even talk despite the fact that they live under the same roof. It's kind of really pathetic how their only interaction will be an awkward eye-lock, or if he's feeling frisky, a tiny head nod. But it's a lot less pathetic than hating each other and he'll take that. And his dad finally seems content with their new family, and Louis would sooner throw himself off a cliff than purposefully hurt his dad. He doesn't mind getting along with him if his father is happy.

And since things have finally kind of simmered down, and Louis has finally stopped complaining about Harry every fleeting second, Niall thought it'd be a brilliant idea to have a lads' night out on the town. Although the chick flick that Niall picked out at their local cinema that makes him feel like he's actually producing estrogen doesn't exactly exude manliness.

To be honest, Louis only agreed to come for the popcorn. Because movie popcorn is the shit.

Niall blows his nose obnoxiously into a tissue he apparently came prepped with, the hanky stuffed in his jean pocket, and Louis genuinely questions the meaning of their friendship right then. Even in the dark, he can see the pink puffiness around his shining eyes that tells him he's not entirely faking it either. "Why did she leave him?" He wails quietly. "They were so perfect for each other!"

"I genuinely hate you right now. You make me embarrassed to be in the same building as you."

"Oh, hush," Niall breathes. "I saw you shed a tear or two. Besides, those girls up there are totally checking us out...I call dibs on the blonde." Louis punches him in the arm, hissing at him to shut the fuck up, but he just leans further over the chairs in front of them, breathing over some poor guy's popcorn without his knowledge. Dear Lord. He's got a child for a best friend, he swears. "It's times like these when being bisexual is fucking fantastic. I can check out your hot stepbrother and hit on gorgeous moviegoers."

Louis feels his hackles rose slightly when Harry is mentioned, hands tightening on the arm rest. It's weird. They're not even related, but Louis has this strangely powerful primitive instinct to pull Niall limb from limb if he even breathes the same air as his stepbrother. It's also kind of frightening, he'd say. He's never been a violent person, but Harry fires him up for reasons he wishes he understood. "You will not touch him," he growls lowly, poking his chest harshly with his finger.

"That sounds like a threat," Niall laughs, popping kernels into his mouth.

"It is."

His face twists. "Well, fuck."

Louis frowns, snatching the bucket of buttery goodness harshly from his hands. "And I fucking paid for this too. But you already ate like all of it." 

The couple in front of them give them dirty looks, shushing them obnoxiously. Louis gives them the finger when they look away. At least they had the decency to sit in the back. The small device in his pocket vibrates silently against his thigh, drawing his irritation to his phone instead. He plucks it from his pocket carefully, turning the brightness all the way down, and opens up the new message.

From Unknown: Louieeeee

What the hell? Who the fuck texts him from an unknown number at ten fucking thirty at night and calls him 'Louieeeee'? He doesn't even have friends! He knows it's not Niall. His attention is entirely too focused on the wedding taking place on screen. He swears he hears Niall hiss, "Fuck, yes. Get together already dammit." 

It's official. He's getting a new best friend.

To Unknown: Who the hell are you and why is your number blocked?

From Unknown: I'm offended, Lou. I would've guessed you'd have my number in your phone by now. What if it's an emergency?

Louis sighs in distaste.

To The Dick: What do you want, Harry?

He exits out of his messages and makes sure to put Harry's number in his contacts as 'The Dick'. Because Harry's just naturally so good at being one. It's very fitting, he thinks.

From The Dick: Oh sweet Lou

From The Dick: Glorious nice smart sexy Lou

To The Dick: Stop buttering me up, Styles. Just spit it out already.

From The Dick: Yeah here's the thing...I need a ride.

Shocker. Only Harry would do this to him.

To The Dick: Ever heard of a taxi? It's a really great innovation actually. Maybe you should try it sometime. Or oh here's a thought. Take the bus

From The Dick: Wtf no. Public transportation is disgusting

Louis scrunches his nose, chewing on the straw of his drink absentmindedly. It already has marks from his teeth. That's how much Harry stresses him out. Where could he possibly be where he's needing a ride home at this late at night?

Suddenly it dawns at him. Harry's at a party or a pub or something. He has to be drunk or likewise, otherwise he wouldn't be calling Louis for help.

To The Dick: Where are you?

From The Dick: Is that a yes?

To The Dick: Answer my question first and maybe I'll think about it

A hot puff of air hits his ear and he jumps like a startled cat, nearly chucking his drink at the seat in front of him. "Niall, I swear to God. If you don't remove your lips from my ear, I will cut them off and sew them to your arse."

"Who are you texting?" He asks ignorantly.

"David Guetta."

Niall's face lights up. "Really? Can I meet him?"

"It's Harry."

His face doesn't change. In fact, his lips curl into a deep smirk that makes Louis' chest vibrate in a silent hiss. He knows Niall's just playing, but Louis' about to disown him and he doesn't think he should be pushing his luck. He stands up next to Louis, brushing popcorn off his jeans and sucking the butter off his fingers. It takes him a little while to figure out that the lights are on, and nearly everyone has already left. Oh thank god. It's over. He grabs his trash and jogs after Niall's figure, tossing it on his way out the door.

His mobile lights up again.

From The Dick: Um I'm at toxic I think

To The Dick: You think? I'm not driving all the way across town to pick you up if you don't even know where you are

From The Dick: No it's toxic

Louis feels like ripping his eyeballs out. That's a good thirty minute drive from here. And to some fucking new dance club too. That's just bloody great.

He goes to tell him to just fuck off and call a taxi, but then his phone buzzes again.

From The Dick: You owe me remember?

Shit.

To The Dick: Fine. But if you're drunk and stripping on a table, I'm turning right back around.

Pulling his keys from his pocket, Louis gives Niall an apologetic look. "Sorry, Ni. I've got to go pick up my idiot stepbrother. He's drunk at some club downtown."

"Toxic?"

"That's the one."

"Shit, yes! Can I come?" Niall screeches, drawing a few looks. "I've always wanted to go there! I heard they had lights in their fucking cups!"

"Definitely not."

Niall pouts childishly. "Aw, why not?"

"I don't feel like babysitting two people tonight," he deadpans, already starting to drift away to his car. Niall crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out at him. "And I'm definitely not staying longer than to drag his drunk arse to the car."

"You suck."

"I'll remember that next time you need to borrow money." He puts quotation marks with his fingers around the word 'borrow'. Niall's face contorts in mock fear, and Louis laughs, running down the parking lot before Niall can chase after him, no doubt going to be making grabby hands at his wallet.

He unlocks his car, sliding into the front seat. The gas light flashes brightly at him as he turns the key, and he groans loudly, knocking his forehead on the steering wheel. Life hates him, he swears. He checks his phone quickly before shoving it in the glovebox.

From The Dick: Why turn around when you could enjoy the show? ;)

Yup. Definitely drunk. This is going to be fantastic. He can already feel the migraine throbbing under his temples.

Louis whips out from his spot by the theater, honking at Niall who is at his car and receiving a middle finger in response. A small giggle leaves his lips, hand flying out to tweak with the radio. It's a long arse drive so he better make the most of it. He knows he's going to wish he had savored this quiet.

He pulls into a gas station briefly to fill up his car and buy a twenty ounce Pepsi because he feels like he'll pass out if he drives another minute. Not feeling the edge kick in quite yet, he rests in his seat, propping his feet on the dashboard. Let him wait. He's not in any hurry. And even though two minutes isn't nearly enough time, it's enough to feel some of the caffeine surge through his veins, and he pulls back onto the highway.

Twenty minutes later, he's cruising down the streets of the next city over, thankful that's it's surprisingly deserted. He would've thrown a hissy fit if Harry forced him to drive through traffic to get here, and he will wish he had taken the bloody bus home. But it looks like Harry got lucky. Today.

The bright lights of the club are burning the back of his corneas before he even sees the building. He grabs his extra large pop, taking another swig and weighing the drink in his hand. Nope. Not enough. He should've bought another one. Once his car is turned off, the bass of the club fills the air, reverberating in his lungs. He doesn't see how people think this is fun.

He snatches his keys from the ignition with a spent sigh, taking one last sip of his soda before entering what looks like the gates of Hell. As soon as the door is pushed open, he's pummeled with scents that make him want to retch up all that popcorn he just ate, and there's so many people he feels claustrophobic. This is ridiculous. Why would these people voluntarily come here? It's honestly disgusting. He's ninety percent sure he stepped in some vomit.

The further in he gets, the more he begins to question whether this was such a good idea. There are some people who are staring at him like he's the last chicken wing as he passes, and a hand definitely grazes his bum on purpose. Louis shudders in disgust and quickens his pace. How is he even supposed to find Harry in a place like this? There's so many bodies, he can't see a fucking thing. He contemplates just heading back towards the entrance and texting him to tell him to meet him outside, but then the crowd parts slightly and he sees the back of what looks like Harry's head. And, shockingly enough, he's not stripping on a table.

"Harry!" He tries to call out to him, his voice straining with all its might to be heard. But it's barely audible even to his own ringing ears. Elbowing some teenagers out of the way, he presses closer. "For fuck's sake. Move!"

"Harry!"

The boy finally turns around at his last shout, curls a frizzy, sweaty mess and emerald eyes rimmed with pink. An unsteady grin breaks out across his face, gaze darting up and down his body quickly. This might be the first time Harry actually doesn't seem all that gorgeous. "Glad you could make it," he slurs loudly as Louis squeezes through the last line of people. And now he's uncomfortably close to him, his breath smelling strongly of booze and possibly cigarettes - he doesn't know. He just wants out.

In his panic of frenzied annoyance, he almost didn't recognize the young girl hanging off of his arm. She looked like she could be pretty, but Louis has to squint.

"Yeah, well," he spits. "Can't have my little brother wandering the streets alone, now can I?"

Harry smirks, lips flushed a slick red color, peeling the girl from his bicep and stepping into his space. Louis takes a large step back. It appears as if he attempts to follow, but his long legs tangle and he stumbles instead, knocking into some other person, but he doesn't even seem to feel it.

"Damn, you're wasted."

"It's no fun to be only half-wasted," he supplies blankly. And sure, why not? Why come all the way out here to get tipsy?

"You're a hell of a lot of work, you know that?"

He feels fingers hook into the back of his shirt, and he panics at first, flailing a little because he doesn't want to get kidnapped. But when he looks behind him, he sees that the hand is connected to Harry, and he seems to be using him for stability or direction more than anything else - telling him silently to lead the way out.

"What?" Louis asks, walking forwards. "You don't want to pick up a few fucks on the way out? I thought that'd be your thing."

"I want sleep."

"Well, so did I. But I'm here picking up your sorry arse instead." He thinks he hears Harry mumble a soft, "sorry." But he might be mistaken. It's too fucking loud to even feel himself think in here. "Why are you even here? It's not safe to come to a place like this alone."

"I wasn't alone," Harry defends automatically. "I came with Zayn and Liam."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "And where are they now? They ditched you, and you don't even care?" Harry shrugs indifferently.

Not long after that, Louis spots the entrance to the club, feeling the crowd thin, and he exhales in relief. But that satisfaction is cut short when he feels a large hand slap across his bum. He yelps, jerking to a stop so that Harry staffers into him. His stepbrother's nose smashes into the back of his skull, and he pulls away, sniffing violently. There's no blood, but Harry's eyes flash as he touches the tender skin and he turns towards the guy who smacked his bum. He suddenly doesn't look so drunk anymore. The fist by his side clenches and then it's in the air, cleanly hitting the guy's jaw so that his eyes roll backwards and he tumbles backwards, people behind him squirming to catch him so he doesn't land on them.

"Harry! What the hell?"

His fingers tug on the material of his shirt, steering him quickly towards the entrance instead so he's dragging Louis behind him as the yelling gets louder where they left the crowd. Shit. Harry could probably get arrested for that. What the fuck was he thinking?

Harry pulls him outside, staggering into the cool air. He releases him as soon as they get to the sidewalk and brings his hands up to rub his temples. "Take me home," he demands.

"Did I hear a please?"

"Please."

Louis feels pretty triumphant after that. He unlocks his car and watches Harry climb in ungracefully. His knuckles are swelling when he puts a hand on the dashboard to steady himself, and Louis wonders if maybe he should pick up some Tylenol on the way home. He might be ignorant to the pain right now, but he'll definitely feel it in the morning and be bitchy about it. Leaning in his seat, Louis twists to reach into the back seat and grab an old bag off the floor. He really needs to clean it out someday. Harry's hot breath ruffles the small hairs at the back of his neck.

Louis thrusts it at Harry. "If you throw up, do me a favor and do it in the bag."

He grabs it off his lap, swallowing. His head goes back against the headrest and his eyes close like he's struggling already. "Okay." Is it strange that Harry seems to actually be easier to deal with when he's drunk? Louis thinks it is.

Time seems to fly quicker than he thought it would, Harry staring at his large cup a majority of the time. Once he actually grabs it and takes a sip from it, but Louis' too tired to care. "You know, that pop could've been like a month old." He almost never cleans his car. It very well could be that old. The only thing that gives away that it's recent is the condensation gathering on the outside. Not to mention, the carbonation could upset his stomach and have him hurling up its contents, but thankfully he doesn't. And before he knows it, they're pulling up their driveway, headlights clicking off and engulfing them in darkness.

Louis prods his near sleeping stepbrother's shoulders. "Do you need any help getting inside?"

The lanky boy yawns, stretching out in the small confines of his car. There's not much room for someone of his stature. His green eyes are bleary, dipping down dangerously, but he doesn't look drunk anymore. "No," he groans quietly, tossing his door open to get out. Louis quickly climbs out after him, fumbling to keep up so that he makes sure he doesn't trip and wipe out on the cement. 

The house is eerily silent when they enter, the clock ticking quietly. Floorboards creak under their footsteps, Harry not even bothering to be courteous to their parents when he pries the heel of his shoe off his foot with his toes and chucks them to the floor. Louis wonders if his mum even knows that he was out getting drunk tonight, or if he now has some kind of blackmail over him. He's kind of praying for the second one. You never know when you might need it. 

Louis trails him to his room, only planning to stay long enough to see him crawl into bed. "You good?" Harry nods, face-planting into his pillow, causing Louis to snort softly. "I think I like you better drunk. You don't talk back as much."

He vaguely remembers Niall saying one time that people reveal their true identities when they're drunk because they don't filter their words or feelings. He doesn't know if it's true or not, but he'd like to think he could tame Harry enough to get him like this all the time. That would be nice. His step brother doesn't say anything in response though, back rising and falling steadily. Figuring he fell asleep already, he turns off the light and grabs the doorknob, starting to close the door behind him.

"Thank you."

Louis starts a little, peeking his head back inside. There's something very genuine about his tone of voice despite the fact that his eyes are closed, and he'll definitely take it. "You're welcome." He goes for the door only to hesitate again. "Hey, um, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," he mumbles, soft looking lips barely moving to form the words as they flutter across the pillow.

"Why exactly do you hate me?" Louis figures he should ask now. When Harry is intoxicated and not in his right mind. That way he knows he's getting a straightforward answer and not some stiff lie or indifferent answer. He really wants to know. Because as far as he knows, he doesn't remember doing anything wrong. The response is immediate, stunning him.

"I don't hate you."

"Oh. So what would you call it then?"

Harry doesn't even twitch. He's so still that Louis worries he's just talking in his sleep. "Hate would mean I have to know you and still dislike you. I don't know you well enough to hate you." So it's just a strong dislike. Great. Glad they could clear that up.

"I hate Zayn. I hate Liam. They're asses. I hate this town. I hate my new school. And I hate celery. But I don't hate you." 

"Oh, uh. How flattering?" He's higher on his list than celery...Damn, he must be special.

"You're the one good thing, besides my mum."

That's when Louis feels a tingle in the pit of his stomach, heat flooding involuntarily to his face and turning his cheeks pink. He must still be drunk. He doesn't know what he's saying anymore. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Wait." Louis halts at the door. "Will you make me pancakes tomorrow?" That's so random. And dangerous. Clearly he has not seen Louis try to cook before.

"Uh . . . Sure. I guess." If he doesn't burn down the house first. "Why pancakes?"

"I like pancakes. Remind me of London." 

"Okay, yeah. I can do that." There's a rustling and then it's silent. Louis assumes he's finally conked out and goes up to his room. Harry's not the only one who's going to need an aspirin in the morning. But he can't help but smile a little.

I don't hate you.


	16. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lock in your daughters. Harry styles is wearing a woman’s ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad you guys like the story ❤️  
> Also why can’t I have friends who like to exercise and will willingly go to the gym with me. Yeesh. Is that too much to ask?

"Okay, let's see here . . ." He trails, raking his eyes over the array of boxes and cartons in front of him. A bead of sweat rolls from his forehead onto his brow, caused from his procrastination and nerves, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. He picks up the thin, red box. "How do I do this?"

The instructions are literally spelled out for him step by step on the box - interpretable to any kindergartner, but somehow it still feels like he's trying to read another language. He has this weird craving for Harry's approval and to get this to turn out right. But the thing is, Louis can't cook for shit. He doesn't think Harry would appreciate anything that he spits out onto a plate.

The last time he tried making food, he set the toaster oven on fire. He remembers it quite vividly because it had been a craving for a midnight snack well into the night - sometime between two and five in the morning, if he remembers correctly. And when it had burst into hot orange flames, smoke curling upwards and setting off the horrendous screeching - his dad was not very happy. To put it simply. Now Harry wants him to cook again, and Louis doesn't even know if he still wants him to. He wanted him to last night, but what if he changed his mind? What if he doesn't remember? What if he was just joking? What if he's waiting for him to do it so he can make fun of him about how whipped he is? Jesus Christ, Lou. You're over thinking this. Just do it.

Louis takes a few calming breaths, grabbing a large bowl form under the sink. If he calms down, he should be able to do this. I mean, other people do this kind of thing all the time. It can't be that hard, right?

2 eggs

So far, so good, he supposes. Seems pretty straight forward. Hopefully, he can recall how to crack an egg. He opens the carton he laid out on the counter, taking out two that appear to not have any cracks. That's one of the very few things he learned in Culinary Arts. That, and that paper towels do not make good oven mitts.

With his tongue poked out in very strained concentration, he takes the small white egg and taps it on the side of the bowl. He thinks maybe he actually succeeded on his first try until he pulls the shell apart and finds he smashed it a little too hard, the crunchy outer layer falling apart and into the bowl.

"Awe."

Panicking, he dips his fingers into the liquid with a scrunched nose and does his best to fish out the pieces. It's cold and slimy, and he knows he didn't get it all out when he gives up. He just hopes it doesn't kill Harry or rip up his insides when he swallows. And it will be a fucking miracle if he actually manages to pull these off as edible.

The second egg goes much smoother, less pressure applied this time, and he actually doesn't get more shell in it. He dances in place for a moment. "Hell yes." Wiggling his slimy fingers, he rushes across the kitchen to unravel some paper towels and wipes the egg off.

Maybe cooking is just one of those things where you either like it or you hate it. Louis' pretty sure he's on the hate spectrum, but he'd probably like it a whole lot better if he didn't personally have to worry about his safety every time he gets near a stove. But he doesn't really mind. At the ripe age of seventeen, he doesn't think he'll be doing much cooking anyway. He adds one cup of milk without much difficulty and pours the mix into the bowl, watching it turn brown as it hits the liquid.

It's at that point where he starts to contemplate what exactly Harry means to him. A brother? Not really. He's never wanted a brother, and he doesn't know anything about him other than he's kind of an idiot in a stubborn kind of way, and that he's most likely a womanizer if he learned anything from last night. Like he said, 'I don't know you well enough to hate you.' There's a ring of truth that follows that statement, and he wonders if Harry would hate him if he grew to know him. He's not a very interesting person - a nobody really - but it'd be nice to have another friend. Someone to lean on when things get tough and Niall's not there to comfort him.

But Harry also hasn't proven himself to be friendship material, and that makes him hesitant because his standards of friends are higher than most people. He thinks it's because of his insecurities and need for someone who won't ditch him for popularity. His teammates make fun of him and jab at him about every little flaw, and he hates that they molded him into a scared little puddle. He needs someone who will build him up, not tear him down like them.

Sometimes his old, sassy self will poke out and make an appearance - like when he's with Niall, but everyone else makes it so hard to want to be himself when that's what cause people to make fun of you. Niall always says that he's awesome and it's who he's becoming because of his bullies that are turning people away, not him himself. Because he used to be popular. He used to be the class clown that always made his classmates laugh and annoyed his teachers.

But the bullying got so much worse towards the end of middle school, and he just couldn't take it anymore. He stopped wearing contacts. He practically stopped talking altogether because then people wouldn't notice him as much. He just kind of drifted into oblivion and fell off the social grid. It was weird and it was uncomfortable, but it made him feel a little bit better knowing that if he tried, he was actually quite good at something. And he definitely doesn't regret becoming a 'nerd' because now he's got a bright future and a full-ride scholarship in London.

When he's done stirring the mixture, it actually looks alright. It might even look digestible to a certain stepbrother he may or may not be trying to impress. He's still not sure why he's willing to cook for him. The idea that he has an itty-bitty crush on his new stepbrother crosses his mind briefly, but he really shouldn't bother. He's leaving for college in four months to a city that's easily hours away, and Harry will just be a whist of a memory amongst the chaos. It'd be kind of really stupid to fall in love with anyone right now.

Louis switches the stove on with a sigh, pouring some oil into the pan like the box tells him to and waits till it's hot enough to plop a few spoonfuls of batter onto the griddle. It sizzles loudly, spreading out into a somewhat circle-like shape. He gives himself a quick high-five, humming in excitement as he cooks them.

"Lyin' here with you so close to me," he sings absentmindedly as he checks under the pancake. "It's hard to fight these feelings when it feels so hard to breathe."

Flip. "Caught up in this moment. Caught up in your smile . . . I've never opened up to anyone." The pancake slides off the edge of his spatula, and he squeals in surprise. Somehow he catches it before it hits the pan, heart racing. "Oh, lordy." He may be overreacting, but he feels like he almost died. He doesn't have a lot of happy experiences with cooking. Carefully setting it on the right side, he starts singing again.

"So hard to hold back when I'm holding you in my arms. We don't need to rush this. Let's just take it slow . . . Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight. Just a touch -"

He cuts off, jumping when he hears the groan of the kitchen bar stool. Whipping around to get a quick look, his face goes red as his eyes catch sight of the slight upturn of a smirk. Fuck, that's embarrassing. He was just goofing around. He didn't think anyone was actually listening. Louis looks away quickly, dishing the done pancakes onto a plate with a nervous knot pulling at his stomach. He tries to swallow it.

"Morning," Louis speaks slowly, flicking the burner off and setting the plate in front of him bashfully. His green eyes dart to the pile of cakes, large fingers attempting to run through his bedridden curls. One pops right back into it's stuck up position and Louis wants to tuck it down. Gaze traveling even lower, he starts at the fact that his shoulders are bare. He rakes greedily down the front of his torso, drinking in his various tattoos and the very defined lines of his abs. Is it hot in here? It feels hot.

His eyes are red around the edges and his finger rubs against the skin right by his eyebrow as if it hurts there. Oh right. He probably has a hangover. Louis snaps out of his embarrassing trance.

He scuttles to the cupboard, pulling down a cup and some ibuprofen. He fills the glass with water and sets both items in front of him, surprised to find his stepbrother already digging into the pancakes. "Just ignore the crunchy bits." Harry pauses, fork halfway to his mouth and tongue lulling out. It's a nice tongue, pink and thin. He bets it'd feel amazing slipping down his throat. Louis winces at that one.

"What?" His deep voice is groggy with sleep, cracking slightly from a lack of use.

"Nothing."

Harry shrugs and takes the water, chugging back the pills. Maybe he didn't mess up too badly if he hasn't noticed. He rubs his face with the palm of his hand, slowing as he blinks down at the pancakes. "You remembered."

Louis sucks on his bottom lip as he pours himself his own breakfast of cereal and milk. "The pancakes? Oh, it's nothing really. You seemed like you really wanted them . . . I'm more surprised you remember actually. You were pretty smashed last night."

He drops his fork with a clank, groaning lowly into his hands. "What did I do?" he asks sharply, voice edging on irritated as if he already expects something he won't like. How often does he get drunk?

"You punched someone," he admits slowly.

"I punched someone?"

The image of his clenched fist hitting the guy flashes in his mind, replaying the part where his eyes roll up into his skull. "Pretty sure you knocked him out."

Dark green eyes widen slightly in disbelief, shaking his head and flexing the fingers on his left hand. Louis notices that they look much worse than they did yesterday, now swollen and discolored. "Must've had a good reason," he mumbles.

Louis' no doctor, but it looks kind of bad. He may have broken a few for all he knows. He eats contemplatively as Harry tries to move his fingers, winces clear on his features. Based on that reaction alone, he doesn't think ibuprofen is going to quite cut it.

"Do you want something for that? I think I could help."

He shakes his head, but he knows that's a lie. Setting down his bowl, he opens the freezer door, feeling eyes burning into his back. He takes out a bag of frozen peas and holds it out with lip snagged between his teeth. "I don't like peas."

"You don't have to eat them, you dolt."

Harry chews on the end of his fork, staring unwavering at him. Louis doesn't know why he's being so damn stubborn. It's just to help take the swelling down. It's not like he's telling Harry to rob a bank with him. Eventually he sighs, eyes rolling up. "What do you want me to do?"

"Follow me."

Moaning, he gets up slowly and trails him up the stairs, sitting down on Louis' bed. "Stay," Louis commands sternly.

And he can safely say that he's quite surprised to find Harry still there when he comes back from the bathroom. He has a first aid kit tucked under his arm and a small purse to his lips when he sees Harry touching everything on his dresser, turning it over and putting it back down. He would be mad if he had anything to hide.

"What's this?"

Louis looks up from where he was kneeling on the floor, frowning when he sees what's in his hand. "It was my mum's wedding ring."

"What happened to her?"

"She died." Louis opens the kit on the floor, rummaging through its contents till he finds the gauze. There's a pregnant pause in that time where Harry doesn't say anything and he can feel his eyes judging him from above, but Louis doesn't let it get to him. Harry holds his hand out obediently, setting the bag of peas and the ring on his drawer and wiping the condensation on his sweatpants.

His throat feels thick as he gently grabs it. He doesn't really like talking about his mum. A tingle runs up his side as if he'd just touched something prickly. He spreads his swollen knuckles carefully, Harry hissing profanities under his breath. "Sorry," he mumbles. He wiggles them around a bit more before wrapping the bandage across his hand.

When he's done, he packs it all back into the kit and sits back on his bum, knees aching. Harry touches the bandages briefly before letting it fall into his lap. They lock eyes, then he picks the small ring back off his dresser, sliding it on his pinky. His finger's much too large though, and it only makes it to the first joint of his finger. Louis smiles a little, hiding it slightly behind his hand.

"Do you think this is a good look for me?"

Louis hums. "Someone better hold down the ladies - dads better lock in their daughters because, dear lord, Harry is wearing a woman's ring."

Harry snorts softly, a small twinkle of amusement appearing in his eye. He takes the dainty ring off, placing it back where he found it and instead fingers the edges of an old photograph of his mum with a young Louis running in the backyard. "I'm sorry about your mum." He seems almost humbled with this new-found information, shoulders a little more slack and comfortable as if he was finally able to release some spite towards him. Maybe he still blames his dad for forcing them to become a family.

Sighing, Louis shrugs. "It was a long time ago. And, besides, I wouldn't expect you to know any of that, or feel obliged to apologize for it."

"Maybe I would know if you told me."

"You wouldn't want to know about my past."

His stepbrother shifts above him, raking his fingers through the curls that are falling into his face. It almost seems like a nervous tick the way he does it. "I'd like to know you some. I mean, you're my soon-to-be stepbrother. It'd be nice if we could get along."

Louis cocks his head. "Are you still drunk?"

A slow smile spreads across his lips, making his breath catch. "I don't believe so. Though that'd be as good an explanation as any."

"Well, then . . . I think you should know that I'm a little . . . insecure about what people think of me. That's what tends to drive people away, I think."

"I could've guessed that at the coffee shop," he whispers quietly, unaffected by his news. That surprises him more than the proposal to try and be nice. Is he that obvious?

"You don't care?"

"Do you see me running?"

"No."

"Then no."

Louis bites his lip, uncertain. Harry's actually willing to do this, and he doesn't have the slightest idea how to make friends. It must show on his face. His large hand reaches out and pats the bed beside him, Louis doing so hesitantly. His back is stiff, hand shaking awkwardly when he realizes he's close enough to smell the faint hint of cologne on his skin. Fingers wrap around his elbow and pull him down alongside him so that they're laying side by side, Louis letting out an unmanly squeak of surprise.

Harry nudges his shin with his socked foot, green eyes displaying all different colors - brown, gold, topaz - from this distance and his breath reeking of sweet syrup. "Tell me everything."


	17. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Harry rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just completely forgot that eating was a thing today and now I’m hopped up on caffeine

Louis passes Harry in the hallway on the way to practice, easily recognizing the wide, muscular shape of his back and mane of dark curls. His shoulder is propped against the wall besides the entrance to the lunchroom, and Louis almost calls out to him before he realizes that his plump lips are moving and his dark green eyes are focused on someone in front of him. And he's even more crestfallen when his eyes fall upon the short, red colored uniform and long brown hair. Of course it's a cheerleader.

Harry doesn't even notice him, his body facing away from where Louis paused in the hallway momentarily, and he sighs. Apparently he's not walking with him to the locker room today. Despite the fact that he said he would this morning. Fabulous. Hiking his bag higher up his shoulder, Louis abandons the place the agreed to meet at and wanders into the locker room, greeting Niall as he drops his bag onto the bench.

"Hey, Lou. How was school?"

"The usual boring shit," he answers easily, frowning as he undresses.

Niall glances up from where he's lacing his boots, tying it up tightly before walking over to his side. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think there's something wrong?" Louis pulls up his shorts, gesturing to his locker. Why is Niall always so good at reading him? Maybe he'd just like to keep his thoughts inside. And Louis wouldn't say that there was really anything wrong. Harry wants to flirt with pretty girls. So what? Who doesn't? "Could you grab my shin guards? I think they're under my jeans somewhere."

Cocking his head, Niall hands over the plastic guards. "I don't know. You seem upset or something."

"Nope."

Niall gives him a reproachful look, moving back to his bag to grab his water bottle. He screws the lid and dumps the old liquid into the water fountain. "You can always come to me if you want to talk about it."

"I haven't forgotten."

"Is it Harry again? I thought you guys were getting along alright. I mean, last night you texted me saying that you guys were talking things over. Did it not work?"

Louis rubs at his eye, shoe in hand. "Nothing happened. Harry didn't do anything. I'm just . . . tired or something." And it's very true because Harry really didn't do anything. He was just being a teenage boy. Louis has no real reason to get upset because they're definitely not dating or anything stupid like that. "I got an A minus on my history test, so I'm still kind of pissed, but it's nothing."

His crystal blue eyes roll up in annoyance. "Only you would complain about an A minus."

"I like perfect grades. You know that."

"Unfortunately I do." Niall sits on the bench next to him, straddling it as he swings his legs and waits for Louis. "Speaking of the devil, where is he? Shouldn't he be here already? It's almost 3:15."

"I don't keep tabs on him 24/7 just because he's my step brother," he snaps.

Niall raises his hands. "It was just a question, Jesus. Man, you really are pissed. What did you do? Fight the teacher for extra credit?"

"Sorry."

"S'fine, Lou. Life is stressful sometimes. I get it." A vibration runs along the bench and Niall pulls his phone from his pocket. His face lights up as he reads whatever's on the tiny screen. "Oh, Looouuuuiiiiieeeee. Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"You know that I don't," he chuckles.

"How would you feel about a party?"

Louis looks at him in disbelief. "A party? How the hell did you get invited to a party? Who asked you?"

"Liam did," Niall brushes off with a shrug. "It's at his house at nine. And I asked if I could bring someone with me. He said he didn't care, so I would be delighted if my bestest friend came with me. Just this once." He finishes off his suggestion with a cheeky grin, leaning forward as if to persuade him.

"You have Liam's number?"

"Yeah, he's cool. He has a bad taste in friends though." His nose crinkles and Louis is immediately clued in that he means Zayn. 

Honestly, Louis doesn't know what to think. Parties are not something that he's ever really had a desire to attend. I mean, what's appealing about drinking and doing drugs? Nothing, if you ask Louis. And he knows all the popular people are going to be there. "I don't know, Ni. A party . . ."

"Please?"

His eyes widen into a blue, watery pout that puts puppies to shame, and Louis groans. "I'll think about it."

"I'll take it," he laughs. "But please consider it. It's your senior year, Lou. You should get to experience senior life at least once before you graduate. I mean, in middle school it was like your dream to attend a high school party." Maybe, but that was before he started getting bullied. Not to mention, he has a highly valuable full-ride to college, and he really wouldn't like it revoked.

The door to the locker room opens, and the final stragglers rush in, Harry licking their heels and curls falling over his forehead. He catches Louis' eyes and shoots him a small smile as he opens his locker beside him.

"Hey."

The pulse under his skin gets faster, and Louis feels like slapping himself when he croaks out a small, "Hi."

Niall coughs out a knowing laugh into his fist, smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. Harry furrows his eyebrows and mutters a question asking why he's laughing, but Louis just thumps Niall's forehead. He knows exactly why he's laughing. He thinks Louis' whipped.

"I'll be waiting outside, Lou. Meet me when you're done."

He scrambles off the bench, swatting Louis playfully on the bum. Louis scowls, slapping his hands away. His face feels a little warm, most likely pink in embarrassment. Why does he have to have such a twat for a best mate?

Harry stares curiously, eyes darting between his locker and Louis. He doesn't say anything though, and it fills the air with awkwardness.

They talked some yesterday and admitted some memories of his childhood, but he still doesn't really think of him as a brother-type figure. It's hard to explain. It was nice being able to talk to Harry like that and he has no doubt that Harry has softened substantially around him with how much he openly admitted. Like how he grew up playing football and his old friends. He even talked a bit about his dad and how close they were before he left his mum. But he still feels like a stranger to him. Like a cousin he just met.

Louis, realizing that he has been neglecting his shoes, tugs them over his feet and slips his glasses away where no one will steal them. That's actually happened before. He wouldn't like a repeat of that.

"Guess what I've got." 

He looks up, and Harry nearly decks him in the nose to shove his phone in his face. His eyes cross as he tries to take in the blurry object right by his eyes. "Whoa."

He snatches it from his hands and holds it back a little so he can actually read it, and his eyebrows furrow as he makes out one word. Party. "What's this?" He knows what this is, but why is Harry showing him? Is he trying to rub the fact that he's friends with more popular people in his face?

"Liam's throwing a party. We should go. I already asked if I could bring a plus one."

"Let me get this straight," Louis breathes in befuddlement, the pieces finally clicking. "He said yes, and you want me to be your plus one?" Harry smirks. Well fuck him.

"You in or not?" He questions choppily, pulling his shirt up and over his head.

Louis looks away. "Um, n-no sorry. I think I'll pass." Even if he was certain - one hundred percent sure - that he was going, Niall had already asked him to go with him. He'd be an awful friend if he ditched him to go with his stepbrother, whom he's sure will leave him alone at the party anyway. Because, I mean, c'mon. Harry actually has a life.

Harry frowns. "Why not? I've already got the invitations. You just have to show up. And you don't have to drink or anything if that's what you're concerned about. I won't make you."

"I'd rather not," he blurts. It ends up coming out a lot harsher than he intended it to, and he immediately regrets wording it that way. It probably sounds like he would rather stay at home and do nothing than go with him. Which he definitely does not mean. He would very much like to do something with Harry sometime. It just can't be tonight.

"I put a lot of effort and consideration into this, and you just say you don't want to go?" Harry asks incredulously, frustration starting to seep into his words. "That's kind of rude."

"Look, I appreciate the offer. But I've already been asked."

Harry's face goes blank, anger seemingly diminishing, but he can't tell and that scares him. Would he be mad if he went with someone else? Because, technically, Niall asked him first. Surely there's some kind of social rule that can apply here.

"Ah, Harry!"

Trevor does some kind of fist bump with Harry and asks him if he's going to the party. His gaze passes boredly over Louis as he awaits an answer. Harry stares at him briefly then leaves with their teammate without so much as a 'goodbye' or 'see ya'. Louis didn't even know he was done changing. "Yeah, I'm going."

Well that hurts. Louis sighs and closes his locker, rubbing his hands over his face. Why is it that when they finally start to get along, something gets in the way and pushes them apart again?

*********

Somehow, at some point during practice, Harry had wandered his lanky body over to the completely wrong side of the field, water bottle rolling in his wrist. He's talking to a huddle of cheerleaders that are exercising on the track around them. Normally, he'd just let it go with a scowl, but his coach let him in charge while he ran to the equipment room for their colored jerseys, and Harry is most definitely not participating fully. And he definitely doesn't notice that he's whispering to the same one he was earlier.

Louis blows the extra whistle their coach had given him the day he became captain, causing most of the players nearby to jump. It was rather loud in the spring air. "Styles, get on the field! Your water break is over. If you aren't utilizing your time, then you don't deserve it. Give me five rounds of sprints. This is not social time."

Harry narrows his light green eyes at him, squirting some water into his mouth as if to spite him before tossing it on the ground and jogging back to midfield. That's not a good sign. He's definitely angry with him.

"Sprints. Go." He orders harshly.

Growling, Harry takes off from midfield - sprinting to the goal box and then jogging back. It's not his fault. If Harry insists on wasting his time, he's going to say something about it. A good captain doesn't show mercy just because the recipient of the punishment is his stepbrother.

When he's done, he's breathing roughly and his forehead glistens with sweat, wetting his curls despite the bandana. He should really consider just tying it all back. Louis bets he'd still look hot. His large hands find his knees as he bends over at the midline, a look that could kill directed straight at him. He swallows.

"Sorry, but I don't tolerate goofing off. This is not the recreational league. We are playing for the championships here. And I'm not going to treat you any differently than I would anyone else."

"I can see why everyone hates you," he grumbles, straightening and dragging his sweaty band out of his hair. He drags his long fingers through the tangled, damp mess before putting it back on and staring down Louis as he does so.

"Yeah, I'm a real fucking jerk," he retorts sarcastically, blowing out a short screech of his whistle just to see Harry cringe. "Now get on the line. We're about to scrimmage."

*********

Louis doesn't even begin to understand what happens after that. It seemed to be all a really big blur that makes his head spin. It all occurred so fast and then all of a sudden it wasn't. All he knows was that he was minding his own damn business when it all went down. He doesn't deserve this shit.

He's pacing back and forth along the goal line, seeking balls amongst the grass. He doesn't usually play the ball fetcher, but they have a sort of rotation and everyone has to contribute to it. Otherwise there'd be some people who would never get to play, and that wouldn't be fair. So Louis just sucks it up and deals with the boredom, sometimes scuffing his toe along the grass just to entertain himself. And apparently it gets his partner antsy too.

His figure is tall in comparison to him, causing his heart to stutter. Every time he looks over, he swears he's getting closer. The coach never notices things like that though, so he's not even the least bit surprised when the black-haired lad steps repeatedly on the heels of his cleats.

Louis does his best to ignore the prodding, walking just that little bit faster to get out of his range of footsteps as he rushes to stop a ball from going into the tall grass behind them. One of the players raises his hand, and Louis places a perfect pass to his feet so he can place it on the line for a goal kick.

A flick of a finger on his glasses startles him from the game, knocking into his eyebrows almost painfully. Louis sniffs and pushes them back onto the bridge of his nose irritably. "Don't."

All he gets in response is a smirk and more fingers prodding him to the point where it was starting to drive Louis insane. How could someone possibly be so fucking annoying? Does he get some kind of sick pleasure out of seeing Louis squirm? Because it's not fucking funny at all.

Connor ruffles his fluffy hair, and that's when he snaps. "Stop it!"

"Or what, little gay boy?"

"I'll beat your ugly face in."

His eyes contort first in shock, then anger. Maybe Louis shouldn't have said that. Connor brings his leg back, and that's when he realizes that he most definitely should've kept his mouth shut. His large foot connects with his bad knee and white hot pain shoots up his leg, making sparks appear behind his eyes. Louis yelps, whimpering as he limps backwards in an attempt to distance himself or at least make it to where the coach will notice. He doesn't make it far.

"I wonder what Coach will do if he finds out that his star pupil is injured again." He taps his chin once, seemingly as if he were thinking, but Louis knows he knows exactly what will happen by the sick grin on his face. 

Louis' heart races with adrenaline, senses turning everything sharp and for a second the pain stops. His hand reaches out to grab the front of Louis' jersey, fingers just grazing the material when he half-jumps, half-limps out of the way. He panics, knowing full well that he is completely serious and could definitely get him out of the way.

"Harry!" he screams, falling onto his bum when he trips on a rock and crawling towards the sideline. Nothing happens, and Louis looks around frantically, but he can't tell which one is Harry. His brain feels like it's scrambled. And he knows that his coach is on the other side of the field.

Connor snickers, stepping on his foot so that he's trapped. "Aw, you're calling out for your little brother to come and save you. How cute . . . And utterly pathetic." He grinds down harder on his boot, and Louis bites his lip. "I bet he doesn't even know that you're a fag. And if he did, he probably wouldn't come and save you. It must be so embarrassing to have such a disappointment for a brother."

"Please stop."

"I don't think so. I'm not finished with you yet."

His hand suddenly reaches down and grabs a hold of his hair, yanking him to his feet. He whines loudly, eyes burning as he feels tears prickle at the back of his eyes. Why does this have to happen to him? What's so wrong with liking the same sex? Harry said it was wrong to pick on him for being gay, so it should be, right?

"Harry!" he cries again, voice cracking as he claws at his finger.

"He's not going to help you, princess." He makes him stand straight, foot repeatedly nudging his knee. It sent streaks of pain through his body. "Now hold still or you'll get more than a busted knee."

Suddenly there's the sound of footsteps coming closer, and Louis is taken from Connor's grip. It hurts a little, his bully's fingers pulling on his scalp as his fingers are ripped out of his hair. But he doesn't mind because then he gets a whiff of grass, sweat, and cologne. He's steered behind the new figure, and Louis clings to the back of his jersey, pressing most of his weight on his good leg.

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't rip your head off your fucking neck," a low voice snarls above him, curls tickling his cheek. Louis' never been more grateful to feel an irritation on his skin.

"What? Are you his girlfriend now too?" Louis nervously looks up at Harry, seeing that his face is red and his hand is shaking near his hip. "I wouldn't have taken you as a fag too, Styles. It's a shame. I actually kind of liked you. But I see that the disease is spreading."

Louis feels Harry's side twitch, and he tugs softly on his jersey in a warning. "Harry, don't. You'll get in trouble."

Harry's flaming eyes meet his briefly, and with his pleading eyes, he backs off. His large hand spans his lower back as he lets Louis use him as a crutch. But the peace doesn't last long.

"Go suck his dick."

Then his crutch is gone from his grip, and Harry's tackling Connor to the ground. His legs move to straddle his midsection, and his fist connects with the side of his face, back heaving in anger. It's kind of scary honestly. He remembers what happened the last time Harry punched someone. His eyes go wide, and he hobbles further up the field, cringing every time he heard the crack of Harry's fist.

A couple of players slow, halting when they see what's happening down the field. He hears a couple of, "Holy shits" and "fucks" come from the other players, and it's only when about half the team is gaping that his coach finally notices Louis' waving arms.

He drops the clipboard immediately and rushes to the two boys, pulling Harry off with a strangely large amount of force. Louis can honestly say that this is the first time he's ever felt bad for his bully. His cheek and left eye are completely swollen, to the point where Louis' sure he can't see, and there's some blood dribbling from his lip and his nose. He shivers. What if Harry ever got mad at him like that? He's pretty sure he'd kill him. Harry spits on Connor one last time, fighting the coach's grip on his arm.

"What the hell is going on?" 

His eyes are hard and dark as he glares at Harry, and Louis drops his head with a sigh. He told Harry to just let it go, but he didn't. And now he has to face the wrath of their coach. He despises any kind of physical violence. It's almost kind of ironic.

He tunes out most of what his coach says to him, too focused on studying Harry's face. Louis just finds it hard to believe that Harry had actually done that. Connor is obviously an arse, but even he didn't deserve that. And Louis has no doubt that he'll get more than a slap to the wrist.

"Both of you." His coach points to both Connor - who is now being hauled to his feet by teammates - and Harry. "Are suspended for the rest of the week. You can practice at home. In fact, I encourage you to. But don't even think about coming to school. That behavior is completely unacceptable."

Harry's eyes darken and he knocks his elbow from his grip, headband once again slipping out of his curls. He doesn't even bother to fix it, outrage consuming his features. Even Louis gapes a little. A week? The most punishment he's ever seen was two practices of suspension. And for just standing up for Louis? That's just not fair.

"But, sir -"

"Rules are rules, Tomlinson. I have no choice." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Someone take Mr. Schmidt to the nurse's office. Styles you're dismissed from this practice. Tomlinson, if you need to take your brother home, you may leave as well."

All of their teammates follow their movement off the field with their eyes; Louis can feel it. He stumbles alongside Harry, about to complain that he's moving too fast when he slows, letting Louis grab onto his jersey once again. It's such a gentle, unexpected move that the guilt only builds in the pit of his stomach because he looks so pissed.

"I'm sorry," Louis mumbles. "You shouldn't have gotten in trouble." And it's true. It wasn't fair at all. Harry was just protecting him. Although, the punching was a little excessive.

Harry says nothing.

Louis bites his lip. "Do you want some ice cream? I'll let you drive."

"Please just leave me alone."

At this point, there's really only one thing that he can think of that would make it up to him. "We can go to the party together, okay? I'll just tell Niall he can take someone else."

"I already asked someone else."

Something caves in his chest, and he tries his best not to look disappointed. "Oh." It doesn't matter though. He's going to that party. And he's going to make him forgive him.


	18. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brothers can sleep together. We’re way past that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m starting to think that if vet school doesn’t work out I could go to art graduate school  
> My professor keeps trying to recruit me to the dark side  
> Or I could just write Larry fanfics for the rest of my life  
> Either or  
> Drunk Harry is my spirit animal

"Why the hell did your coach just call me and tell me that you got suspended from school? For a week?"

Louis flinches at the harsh tone of his step mum's voice, sliding his backpack off his shoulder to drop onto the wood floor with an unsettling guilty feeling clawing at his insides. He can see Harry in the kitchen from where he's standing, and he doesn't look like he has an ounce of remorse about telling her that he got suspended. The curly lad just leans back, putting one elbow on the counter behind him and meets her fiery gaze. Louis could never do that - play it off like it's no big deal.

His shoulder lifts in a lazy shrug, and his voice drops back to that slow drawl. "I punched some prick. I got suspended. It's pretty straightforward."

"He said that you sent the poor kid to the hospital, Harry! I thought I told you to get over this rebellious phase of yours! Hurting people is not funny - it's not even remotely acceptable. Under any circumstance. I thought I raised you better than this."

Harry picks at the bandage of his hand, some blood splattered across the white there, and his mum looks like she's about to lose her shit upon seeing that. His emerald eyes dart up and meet Louis' down the hall as he stands frozen by the door, then they quickly flicker away as if he doesn't want to look at him. "I had a good reason. You know I wouldn't physically hurt someone like that if I didn't."

Anne presses her hand to her forehead. "There's never a good reason to do something like that, Harry! There's a reason we teach you kids to learn to talk things out before getting physical." She sighs. "I'm very disappointed in you."

Louis frowns at that, stepping between his dad - whom has pursed lips and a slightly red, angry face like he too expects much more from Harry - and the counter to reach the fridge. He sounds like a broken record, but his stepbrother really doesn't deserve any of this. If a bully was picking on Niall or someone else he loved - not that he thinks Harry loves him - he would not hesitate to assert some authority back, and if that meant decking them, well . . .

"It was justified, you've got to believe me!"

"I don't know what to believe anymore, young man. Your behavior has been atrocious lately."

Harry steps from the counter. "Whatever, mum. I'm not apologizing for what I did. That guy was an arse and deserved every single punch. You told me I should always stand up for what I believe in, so I did."

"That's it, mister. Give me your phone."

"What? Why?" He scoffs incredulously.

"Because this is a very serious situation, and I will not just simply ignore the fact that you put a kid in the hospital. No matter the reason, that was completely out of line. Clearly I need to start disciplining you better. And we will start with your technology. Therefore, give me phone. Now."

His eyes narrow in the makings of what looks like a harsh glare, but something in her expression makes him back off, and he slowly reaches into his pocket and hands it over.

"And your laptop."

"But, mum!"

"Harry."

"This is so stupid."

"This is your last warning, or I'm taking away your television privileges too. Get your laptop and put it in my room. You're not allowed to use it while you're suspended."

He rolls his eyes angrily, snorting and walking down the hallway to his room. To get his laptop, Louis' guessing. Louis looks down at his vans, staring for a little bit while his step mum complains to his dad about his behavior - his dad occasionally giving a small murmur of agreement.

*********

It's when the small clock by his bed flips to eleven that Louis rubs at his sleepy eyes and flings the sheets off his body. He swipes his glasses off the nightstand, stumbling to his closet to put some skinny jeans on and trying to fix his hair at the same time. The house is silent and dark - signaling that his parents are already in or on their way to bed, and his footsteps sound worryingly loud as he creaks down the stairs.

Louis opens the wooden door, following the crack of light slowly and steadily until his eyes adjust and he can see a lump on the bed. He has the incentive to predict that he's been laying there for a while since he's grounded from pretty much everything entertaining.

"Harry."

When he doesn't respond, he picks up a shoe on the floor and tosses it at him. It hits him square in the back, and he jerks awake. "What the hell?" He rolls over to face the door, rubbing his face and squinting at him. "Louis?"

"Get dressed."

Harry scoffs, dropping back onto his pillow. "Do you know what fucking time it is? I'm not going anywhere."

"Not even to a party?"

His eye peeks back open. He props himself up on his elbow, sheets falling from his bare chest and pooling around his hip. "What are you talking about, Louis? I'm grounded, remember? I can't go to a bloody party."

"Do you always listen to your parents?"

A small smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, and he slides out of his bed, nearly blinding Louis in the process. His eyes immediately turn to the ceiling, and he can feel his face turning red. "Jesus, Harry. Put some bloody clothes on."

"Why? You have something against going all natural? It's nothing you won't see at some point. I always sleep naked. You're bound to see it a few more times."

Louis keeps his eyes glued to the pattern of the ceiling, trying to ignore the sounds of him fumbling around in his closet. He fiddles with his fingers nervously and sucks in his bottom lip, chewing on it. There's the sound of a zipper, and only then does Louis assume it's safe enough to look. Harry tilts his head, inserting his arms into his t-shirt.

"You've never snuck out before, have you?"

Is that obvious? It must be. "No."

Harry grins, grabbing his phone and slipping past him through the doorway. "Well, then you're in for the best night of your life." Louis has to jog to keep up with him, heart pumping a little faster as he looks up and realizes that they're right under their parent's bedroom. Honestly, no. He's going to be too paranoid to have any sort of fun, he can already tell. "What about that Niel guy or whatever? I thought you were going with him."

"Niall," Louis corrects sharply. "And he already knows about my plan to sneak you out. He's not expecting me until, like, eleven thirty."

He rubs his large hands together, smirk only getting deeper. "Damn, you had this all planned out, didn't you Shorty? I'm honored." Louis rolls his eyes, closing the front door behind him quietly. "What's the plan then?"

"We get in. We 'party' for an hour, two tops, and then we come home. Preferably before one because I have to go to school tomorrow."

Harry winks, climbing into the car so that his voice becomes muffled. "Don't worry your pretty little head. I'll have you back home before one."

But, of course, the very first thing Harry does when they arrive is bump Louis out of the way and rush to the alcohol. He fills a cup to the brim with beer and disappears into the living room somewhere. Louis just rolls his eyes, wandering in the opposite direction in search of that blonde quiff.

Louis makes an entire loop around the house, circling upstairs and then coming back down, only to end up at the exact same place he started. Only this time, he can make out his best mate in the kitchen, his obnoxiously loud laugh carrying through even the music to reach his ears, and Louis thinks that's pretty damn impressive because it's quite loud. He reeks of alcohol and his blonde hair is slightly sticky with sweat, but, overall, he doesn't look too pissed. His blue eyes light up upon seeing him, and his lips quirk.

"So goody-two-shoes showed up after all," he teases lightly, ruffling his hair - which Louis detests. "I was beginning to think you were going to chicken out." He sips at his drink. "Speaking of which, where's that stepbrother of yours? Did he ditch you for the dance floor?"

Louis sighs, sitting in the chair across from him and crossing his legs anxiously. "Yes."

"Aw, I'm sorry Lou." Niall leans in a little closer, whispering into his ear. "We'll get you a new girlfriend."

"Shut up," he laughs.

Niall tilts the bottle in his hand, eyebrows raising in an offer for a sip, but Louis just waves him off. If he's going to a high school party, he's going to stay sober. He's already seen some things he wishes he could un-see, and he really doesn't want himself to make the same idiotic choices. Plus, he doesn't want to die in class tomorrow.

"There's some pop in the fridge, I believe."

"Thanks."

Louis grabs a can of soda from the fridge and sits back down.

"How did your parents take the whole suspension thing? You said he got in trouble, right?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "He got both his phone and his laptop taken away, and he's on house arrest till his suspension is over. I feel so bad. It's all my fault. He was just standing up for me, and he took all the heat for it."

"He probably would've said something if he felt like he shouldn't be blamed for it. What did you tell your parents about what happened? You didn't tell them about the bullying, did you?"

"Harry just said something about sticking up for what he believes in, I don't know. His mum didn't buy it."

Niall chugs down the rest of his bottle, shrugging. It must be those Irish genes inside him that allows him to just inhale alcohol like that. He lets out a short burp, setting it down with a clank and grins. "You wouldn't happen to want to dance, would you?" Shaking his shoulders obnoxiously, he shimmies closer, and Louis pulls a face.

"Definitely not with you. I have a reputation to maintain, and I don't want to be known as the boy who danced with, shudder, Niall Horan."

"Boo. You stink."

"I didn't take a shower today, okay? You don't have to take your anger out on my scent."

He cackles, clearly finding that much too funny with his drunken brain. It really wasn't funny at all but whatever. "Maybe it's a good thing I'm not dancing with you then."

It's about an hour that he spends in the kitchen with Niall, giggling back and forth stupidly, and Niall pounding back drink after drink when the door to the kitchen swings open, and one of their teammates, Jack, comes in with a look that's very hard to read. It looks somewhat like a mixture between amusement and disgruntlement. He weaves through the crowd and taps Louis on the shoulder. "Um, Louis, I think you should come here. Your brother is doing body shots in the living room. Maybe you should take him home before someone posts something online and gets him in even more trouble." His face contorts in sympathy, as if he feels for Louis about taking home his drunk stepbrother. Louis always knew he liked Jack.

Louis steps off the chair, eyebrows furrowing. "What the fuck are body shots?"

"Exactly what you think, mate."

He slaps a hand across his face, running it down slowly in exasperation. Oh, this is going to be something. He sighs. "Thanks, Jack. I promise I'll get him home." Jack smiles warmly, grabbing another cup of alcohol and disappearing down the hallway somewhere.

"Come with me," Louis demands, grabbing Niall's skinny wrist and dragging him along behind him before he can decline.

The sight that he comes upon is simply appalling. His stepbrother is perched on the coffee table, sitting shirtless on the edge with a lime wedge between his teeth. Eyes red and hair mangled, he looks more than a little tipsy, and there's a very basic looking, too much makeup wearing girl obscenely licking up his bare chest, stopping when she reaches his neck. Harry squirms under it and giggles, letting her dip her fingers under the waistband of his jeans.

Louis gapes for a second before realizing that she's pulling something out of his jeans and it's not his fucking dick. It's a small cup instead, filled with some kind of clear liquid that Louis assumes must be alcohol based on the way her face scrunches up and the people holler as she downs it.  
Then Harry nods his head slightly, and she wastes no time in leaning forward - almost as if to kiss him - but she just grabs the lime with her own teeth and pulls back, sucking on it. People chant out hollers, signaling the completion of the body shot, and Harry just grins, pupils wide and head lulling as he resets for the next one, stuffing a cup into his jeans.

Louis huffs, dropping Niall's arm and elbowing people out of his way. "Harry, what the fuck are you doing?"

His head shoots up at the sound of his voice, lips pulling even higher on his face. "Body shots. They're so fun. She did a good job, don't you think? I remember my first body shot. It didn't end quite as well -"

"Harry, this is a horrible idea. You realize that everyone here has a phone, right?"

"So?"

"What if someone is recording all of this? What if someone posts it on twitter or face book and our coach sees it? Do you know how much trouble you'd be in if you got caught intoxicated - underage, at a party? You're already on thin ice. And your mum would fucking kill you, we both know that."

Harry plucks his bottom lip with his thumb as if thinking about it. His green eyes are unclear and glazed though, suggesting that he's too drunk to process a word he just said. "You want me to go home?"

"Yes," Louis snaps impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll go get the car warmed up, if you want to stay a few minutes longer, but that's it. I'm not taking responsibility for you getting in trouble again. Especially if I can prevent it the second time. Now let's go."

Grinning, he sits up a little straighter. "Okay, I'll go."

"Thank fuck."

"But -" Louis freezes. "Only if you do something for me. It's only fair that I get to have a little fun before you take it away. And I'm doing this as blackmail because I know you'd say no otherwise, party pooper."

Louis' heart skips a beat, throat constricting in fear. The music seems to pound just a little bit louder and his head aches a little bit more. When you agree to do something a drunk person tells you to do, I think you should be more than a little worried. Who knows what he's going to make him do.

"What will I have to do?" He asks slowly, suspiciously.

Harry twists to reach behind him. His long fingers wrap around a cylinder container behind him, and he licks over his lips devilishly, handing it over. Louis looks at the label, and it reads: salt. What the hell is he supposed to do with this? He locks gazes with him, and Harry wiggles his eyebrows as if he enjoys seeming him squirm.

"Do a body shot."

All of Louis' fears are confirmed in that one sentence. His face flushes, cheeks warming to an unnatural temperature, and he feels lucky that they're in a dark room. Otherwise that would've been very embarrassing.

He wants Louis to do a body shot. Off of his fucking body. In front of a good twenty people that are circled around them. Sure, most of them are pissed out of their mind, but what if there's that one person who's sober enough to remember everything that happened. He'd be known as the nerd who did an inappropriate body shot off of his step brother. Not to mention, Niall's watching, and he knows he'll never let him forget it.

"Harry, come on. This isn't funny. Take that bloody drink out of your pants so that we can just leave. You're going to have a nasty hangover tomorrow, and you're going to be cranky if you don't go to sleep. So, please. Let's just go home. There will be other parties."

He crosses his arms over his chest childishly, ignoring his plea to leave. "You're boring as fuck."

What the hell is wrong with him? He's drunk, but why does he want Louis to do a body shot? Like, what the hell? Wasn't that girl enough? What sick satisfaction would he get from seeing him do it. Louis winces, gazing at the salt. "Do I have to?"

His dimple deepens in a smirk, sensing his submission. "Yes."

Louis glances over his shoulder, meeting Niall's gaze. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he's got his arms raised like he's asking what the hell is going on. He looks about as confused as Louis feels, tapping the back of his wrist and gesturing in a way that tells him that they need to leave.

"I fucking hate you," he tells Harry, pouring some salt into his hand and setting it back on the table behind him. Some of the watchers had lost interest on what was happening, but a couple of them shoot curious stares still. He swallows, closing his fist around the white grains.

Harry grins, placing his hands at his side and slightly behind so that's he's leaning away from him. "It'll be fun." Yeah, no it won't.

Louis takes that one shaky step closer to close the distance between them, and he licks his first finger, dragging it through the salt on his hand. Being this close, he can smell the alcohol on his breath and see the shine of his sweaty neck under the lights. It's weird, almost like he's not actually there - that it's not actually him doing this. Or even having the confidence to do this. He exhales and smears it on his neck, seeing it pulse and twitch under his touch.

As strange as it seems, it feels like it's the first time it clicks in his brain that Harry's a living, breathing person just like him - with warm flesh and blood. It just kind of hits home then, and suddenly he calms down a little. He no longer feels like he's trying to impress this perfect image of a person who will make fun of him. In fact, he doesn't feel much at all. Just the small bit of warmth that radiates from the body beneath him and the tickling of the breath from his nose on his neck. It feels nice too - a little cool breeze that sends goosebumps up his arms.

When the salt is finally applied, he leans back and looks at the trail on his neck, dusting his hands together to drop the rest onto the carpet. Harry raises an eyebrow expectantly, tilting his head to the side. Louis bites his lip.

"I don't know what to do."

He sighs loudly, shifting on his seat. "You lick the salt off, take the shot, and then grab the lime with your teeth and suck on it. The order doesn't really matter. I'll let you do whatever you want, but you have to do all three." 

The noise around them gets a little louder, and Louis feels that flash of panic again at remembering that they have an audience.

Louis puffs out a breath, hands trembling as he moves to take a small, experimental lick of the salt. He still has cologne lingering on his clothing despite the overpowering stench of alcohol and salt. Harry's knee knocks into his thigh, and he moves around a little. It almost seems like he's trying to make this difficult for Louis, twitching away from him to make the process longer. This irritates him further because he'd really like this to just be over with.

He places a hand on the other side of his neck, so that when he licks again, his neck can't dance away again. He gets a little more confident after that second one, moving instead to a sucking lick with his lips, and it tastes really horrible. It's overbearing on his taste buds. But Harry rolls his head a little, lips parting, and that eggs him on further.

Louis must admit, it's not as bad as he thought it would be. With his face in the crook of his neck, he can almost pretend that no one else is watching. And his skin is very warm and soft, so it's not like he has to lick over warts or anything.

Harry makes a weird humming sound, hooking a finger into his belt loop and pulling on it to get his attention. He pulls off as soon as he feels that, looking into his dark eyes to await instruction. "You can do the shot now." His voice is gruff.

"I didn't get all the salt off."

"I know, it's okay." Louis frowns in confusion, but he's not going to complain so he takes a mini shuffle backwards. "Don't forget to use your teeth."

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, sinking down to his knees so that his mouth is practically level with his crotch. It's such an odd position, and he feels so uncomfortable that he can so clearly see the bulge in his jeans, cheeks feeling warm again. Harry knocks his head back, eyes closed.

His fingers hesitate at the edge of his jeans, trying to find a spot where he can touch as little skin as possible and dipping his fingers in. He brushes against warm skin and boxers, stretching the denim a little so that he can get his teeth around the edge of the cup. After some tugging, he manages to get it to slip out, and he hears a cheer of profanities and laughter ripple out around them. Oh, God.

He gets back onto his feet, staring levelly between Harry's eyes and the liquid. Harry licks the middle of his rosy lip, a smirk slowly creeping onto them, and he nods to the cup. "Drink it."

Louis rolls his eyes and tips his head back, letting the liquid slide into his mouth. It burns as soon as it hits the back of his throat, and his lungs spasm, nearly making him cough it back up. It tastes like gasoline and nail polish, to put it simply, and he's never been happier that he doesn't drink.

When it's over though, he realizes with a relieved sigh that he's nearly done. Harry grabs a lime from the bowl at his hip, shaking out his curls before putting it flesh out and biting the rind. Louis makes the mistake of darting his gaze to the crowd around them and sees all the drunk faces whistling and raising their cups in praise when he looks at them, confidence faltering again. This was a bad idea, but I guess it's too late to back out now.

He inhales, reaching out a couple fingers to pull the citrus fruit from between his lips, but he's met with resistance. Harry's jaw doesn't move, teeth sinking further into the lime and eyebrows furrowing. His stepbrother smacks his hand away from his mouth, and he takes it out himself.

"What are you trying to pull here, Louis? You have to use your mouth." When Louis gives him a disbelieving look, he quickly adds, "Or you lose."

"Fine," he snaps.

The lime is placed back in his mouth, and Louis decides to just pounce on it, jerking to get their faces close together. But instead of biting the lime, he chickens out, breathing on his cheek before pulling away slightly again.

Harry, sensing his reluctance, huffs and purses his lips so that the lime is further from his face and easier for him to snatch. Louis decides that that's okay. It's better anyway. He thinks he can grab it if he just gets a little -  
Suddenly the lime is gone from in front of him, Harry sucking it into his mouth and he stumbles forward. Their lips meet ungracefully, a pleasant shock running up his spine at the contact. And Louis just kind of freezes, body going stiff. A stiff, plastic like object hits his lips, and he opens them on instinct, still in complete shock as he worms the lime into Louis' mouth, letting his tongue slide against his bottom lip on the way out. And, fuck, Louis doesn't remember this part.

His stepbrother removes his lips with a pop, shooting him an easy, lopsided grin. Whereas, Louis feels like his heart is positively racing, blue eyes wide. Another wave of hollers runs through the ring of bystanders, and Louis' face flushes again, spitting the lime onto the table.

"Harry!"

"Oops," he giggles.

A flash of irritation stirs in his stomach, and he grabs Harry by his bicep, yanking him after him. Harry lets out a small noise of complaint but follows willingly.

Niall intersects him on the way to the door, dropping in next to him with a gaping mouth. His eyes flicker to the drunk boy he's hauling and back. "Shit, Louis. What the hell did you just do?" He couldn't have summed it up better himself. He doesn't have an answer either.

"I have no fucking idea," he whines quietly. "Please just drop it."

He shoots him another look then moves to his other side, tossing Harry's arm around his neck so that they can haul him out the door when he starts drooping to the floor. Harry apparently doesn't let that stop him from reaching across Niall to grab onto a stranger. "I love you," he tells them frantically, and when they stare, he just moves onto the next one, hugging the girl this time. "I love you, man. Are we still up for glow bowling tomorrow?"

Louis yanks him off the poor girl, genuinely embarrassed like a mum dragging their kid through the store. "I'm so sorry."

The cool, spring air feels like a fucking slap to the face when they step out of the stuffy, heated house, and Harry leans more of his weight into Louis' body. Louis has reason to believe he only has a few more minutes before he passes out on the grass. That boy must have a gut of iron because it's a miracle he's not throwing up his insides right now.

Together, they maneuver Harry into the back of Louis' car, Niall complaining about his weight and stretching while Louis straps his stepbrother in with the seatbelt. It goes in with a click, and Harry just rolls his head to look at him. "Why do I always have to take care of your drunk arse?"

Harry's eyes dip in exhaustion, and he just curls up against the seat, mumbling incoherent things under his breath.

"Bro, how are you going to sneak that past your mum?"

"It'll take a miracle," Louis agrees, praying to the Lord above that his mum is very asleep.

Sometime along the way home, Harry wakes up from his nap, seemingly more drunk than he was before he passed out. Which makes no sense at all, but who knows what alcohol does to your brain. And he rasps on the window loudly, making Louis cover his face with his hand and making Niall tear up in laughter as he orders three kids meals from McDonalds through the glass. They're not even stopped or near a McDonald's. That's the sad part.

"Your brother's awesome," he cackles, clutching his stomach. "I think he's way past drunk right now." He does have to admit he's a lot more entertaining when he's drunk. Stupider, but funnier.

Louis drops Niall off first, putting the car in park and staring warily into the backseat where Harry's throwing wrappers into the air and saying something about aluminum rain. "Are you sure you don't want to help me?" He adds an extra pleading look, but it doesn't work. 

"Positive," he chirps, smirking as he shuts the passenger door and jogging up the stairs to his front door. Why hasn't he gotten that new best mate yet?

Some ten minutes later, they're swinging into their driveway, and Louis genuinely worries if his stepbrother has some brain damage. By the time Louis opens the back door, Harry's already unbuckled, and he pounces on him. His shoes dig into his sides and climb on his hip as he moves to attach to his back, nicely shaped thighs clinging to his side and ankles locking in front of his abdomen.

"Piggy back ride!"

Louis stumbles, nearly falling forward with a squeal. "Harry!" His hands move to grip under his knees, so that he doesn't slip off and dent his skull in, but he's not happy about it. He definitely doesn't like the muscle definition in his legs or his curls tickling his stubble. No, definitely not.

The house is thankfully dead silent when he opens the door, and Louis has to press a finger to his lips to remind Harry to be quiet. He giggles but seems to understand, not making a sound until they reach Harry's bedroom and Louis tries to pry him off his back. Then his face contorts in a serious expression and he clings on tighter, using his feet to push him away from the bed. His stepbrother nearly climbs over him to avoid it.

"What are you doing, Harry? Go to bed."

"No!"

"Stop squirming, Harry!"

His boot hits Louis in the stomach, and he loses it. He grabs Harry by his waist, fingers digging in and he hurls him off of his back and onto the bed with a growl. Luscious curls fan out around his head like a halo, pupils wide.

"Stay," Louis commands, moving to yank his shoes off his feet and tossing them on the floor. "There. Now go. To. Sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"It's one fucking thirty in the morning, Harry. I'm tired. Just go to sleep. Some of us have to wake up tomorrow."

"There are ways you could tire me out."

He sends a cheeky grin to him from his spot on the bed, and Louis just raises an eyebrow. "What?" Harry laughs, rolling onto his stomach and sniffing his pillow.

"I swear to God, Harry. I'm going to just collapse right on top of you if I don't go to sleep."

"Bed's big enough for two."

And, okay. Surely he heard that wrong. "I'm sorry?" he asks incredulously.

The lanky boy kicks out his legs and arms to spread across the bed, fingertips not even touching the edges. "See?" he slurs. "Plenty of space."

Louis sighs, not caring whether he fell asleep on the bathroom floor at this point. And his bed certainly looks inviting after the night he's had. Plus, it's not that bad, right? Brothers can sleep together. It doesn't have to be weird. "Whatever. Scoot over." He waits for him to do so before slipping in himself, feeling fatigue wash over his limbs and tug at his brain. It smells like Harry's green apple shampoo and a muskier scent that is hard to describe as anything other than his stepbrother, but it's warm and it's plush, and it's almost comforting to have another presence beside you in the dark.

A light hum fills the air, and Louis blinks his eyes open momentarily to see Harry on his back, eyes to the ceiling as he sings softly to himself. His hands are folded neatly across his stomach and he tweaks his thumbs like he doesn't know he's being watched, but for someone drunk, he sings very well. And it's so soothing, he may or may not have fallen asleep to it. But Harry doesn't have to know he was listening.


	19. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s get a little wet

"Louis, time to get up!"

A loud voice through the door startles him from his slumber, making him jerk slightly in protest and peel open his bleary eyes. The first thing he sees when he wakes up, though, is bed sheets. And not just any bed sheets - not his bed sheets. They're a light blue instead of white. If that wasn't strange enough, there's a weight across his midsection, and when he glances down, tattoos sprawl across his vision. He shifts his foot, surprised to find it hooked between legs behind him. His lungs shutter in utter befuddlement before he realizes what's happening. Oh, it's just Harry. He takes a deep breath, squirming under the boy sprawled on top of him. Louis leans over his unconscious, soft snoring body, rubbing his eyes as he glances at the clock. 

The numbers are fuzzy at first, so he has to kind of squint, but then it finally clicks. It's kind of really late, and he should really get up to dress for school, but then again. Why would he do that when he can sleep for another five minutes? He shifts to squirm back into the place his body was occupying before, the warmth feeling like a drug that pulls at his eyelids. Just five more minutes. The arm around his body squeezes a little harder, and he hears the soft rustle of sheets as Harry shifts in his sleep, breath tickling his spine. "Mm."

"Louis, it's six-thirty! You better be up."

Louis clenches his eyes tighter, trying his best to fall into darkness so he can't be guilted into getting out of bed. The world outside is so cold, and he's so blissful in this heat.

"Louis, don't make me come up there!"

The threat doesn't really do anything until he realizes that he's, in fact, not in his room, and his heart stops. Shit. His eyes spring open. He reaches back across Harry and swipes his glasses off the side table, slinking out of Harry's bed and secretly sending a few glances at the boy still cuddled around the empty dip in the bed. He grabs his vans off the floor, lip snagged between his teeth. There's almost something scandalous about sneaking out of his stepbrother's room in the early hours of the morning, clad in yesterday's clothes, that has his heart pumping.

Harry doesn't even stir when he sprints from his room, dead to the world around him. And Louis feels like a young teenage girl, checking the hallway on his way up to his bedroom so as not to get caught with disheveled hair and his shoes in his hand. He breathes in relief, but maybe also feels a little flutter of giddiness in his chest knowing that he didn't get caught.

Louis rushes to get ready for school, tugging on his jeans and trying to brush his teeth at the same time. It doesn't work very well, and he just ends up with some white paste in his hair. He quickly rinses it out in the sink, shocked to find that he actually looks somewhat presentable when it's all over and he composes himself. It's not how he'd like to look for an interview or anything, but for school it'll work. Skipping down the stairs, he quickly throws himself at his dad, capturing in a brief, bone-crushing hug that makes him grunt, and he greets his step mum, kissing her cheek. She starts, touching the spot with a shocked, pleased gape.

"Morning, Anne! Dad."

"Someone's chipper today," his dad comments. "Finally wake up on the right side of the bed this time?" He turns to his step mum, smiling fondly. "This one is nearly impossible to get out of bed in the morning. The only thing that gets him out of bed is the mention of school or some book he's been fantasizing about."

Smiling, Louis darts to the door, car keys in hand. "Bye, dad."

"Whoa, where are you going?"

Quick, Louis. Think. Is this a trick question? "Uh, my car?" He answers uncertainly, sliding his hand off the knob.

"No, we're going out. Go out to my car and wait for me." Louis' face contorts. What's going on? They're going somewhere? As in, not school? He stuffs his keys in his pockets, lips frowning. Why does he have to wake up this early if his dad doesn't plan on taking him to school? This is not okay.

"But it's Tuesday . . . I have school."

"You deserve a break. You've been working so hard. Come on, I'll call you into school sick today."

Louis narrows his eyes suspiciously. Is this a trick to get him alone and discuss Harry in a way that makes it seem like he's not trying to directly bring up Harry? Probably. "What the hell, dad? You could've let me sleep in a little! The only reason I got out of bed was so that I didn't miss school!" Louis voices his earlier thought to emphasize his point. "This is not okay! This is cruel and unusual punishment."

"Don't be so dramatic, Lou."

"I hate you," he grumbles bitterly.

Louis leaves his father in the kitchen and exits the house into the cold garage. He shivers, clicking his tongue in irritation at the fact that he could still be in bed right now, but he gets in the passenger seat anyway, strapping himself in. And to think he's missing review days for finals at school. His dad slides in a couple minutes later, eyes sparkling in excitement. "Um, where are we going?"

"We are going to have a father, son day. Remember? We planned this like a month ago after your last regular season football game. Didn't you mark it on your calendar a couple of weeks ago? I swear I saw you do it."

"Oh." A blush works its way onto his cheeks. He didn't check his calendar like he usually does because he wasn't in his room this morning. Oops. "Right." He puts his chin in his palm and looks out the window, sighing. When did his life become so complicated?

"Perk up, love. We're going to your favorite place." 

He sits up a little straighter in his seat, already knowing where this is going and very pleased, to say the least. "We're going to Benny's?"

His father nods, and Louis beams, biting down on his bottom lip. He feels a little bit of the dark cloud drift away at the mention of something so heavenly, but a majority still hangs over him and he's sure it will stay for a while. Harry's a little bit of a problem.

Benny's is an old fashioned diner on the other side of town with the best chips and shakes around. It's got maroon colored walls and checkered tiles like they always depict in the movies, and there's even a jukebox in the corner. It's like porn. Oh, and don't even get Louis started on the food. Dear lord. He wants to drown in a tub of their shakes. Their menu consists of mostly hamburgers, but it's all homemade and always fucking incredible. If you ask him, small town food is the best. And Louis couldn't have been happier, digging into his burger with a moan. That is, until his dad mentions something that makes his blood freeze. But he really should've expected something like this.

"So . . . Did something happen between you and Harry?"

He swallows around his big bite of burger, nearly choking and coughing it back out. His throat burns as it squeezes down and he instantly reaches for his water to calm it. "What makes you think something happened?"

"He just seemed tense after that whole discussion about his punishment. You hardly talked to him at all. And I know you guys aren't besties or anything, but I really thought you guys were getting on. Then that whole suspension thing happened. At this point, it's second nature that my first thought was that you guys fought again or something."

Louis sets down his burger, avoiding his eyes. Did something happen? He doesn't think Harry was all that mad at him, but maybe he was wrong. Shit. Is he mad? "No, nothing like that happened."

"Lou, you can tell me anything. You know that."

Yes, he fucking knows that. He's known that since his mum died because he keeps reminding him. But Harry's the last thing he wants to be thinking about right now. His dad's got him all paranoid again, and he knows he'll dwell on the fact unless he distracts himself. At first, it was kind of thrilling, but now he just feels guilty and drained. "I just . . . I don't want to talk about Harry. I know it will make me feel worse than I already do, and I'll end up ruining this day for you. I just want to spend this day like we used to and not have to worry about my problems right now. You were right. I need this. It's nothing anyway. He probably just hates being grounded." At least, Louis hopes that's all it is.

They both made a sort of silent agreement, and they happily change the subject to the weather, football, really anything that they can think of. It's a pleasant turn in the atmosphere. His chest feels lighter than it did, and the throbbing behind his eyebrow has faded to a dull ache. For once, the crinkles by his eyes are not due to stress, but from happiness. It's so bloody nice. He's missed this.

The two of them go to all sorts of places around the town. They did a little bit of everything. They went bowling, took a walk in the park, fed the ducks, you name it. And Louis basks in the memories of his childhood, seeing as it's almost better this time around because he feels like he's emerged from the dark hole that is high school. Together, they even count the number of red cars like they did when he was little. He feels free from his problems for a while, and his face is flushed from laughter instead of etched in a frown. His dad even makes up stories for everyone they pass on the street, finding it especially hilarious when his dad tries to read their lips and insert words into their dialogue. It's spot on.

His smile freezes, however, when he sees a teenage couple. He doesn't know why. There's nothing special about them really. They're very cute together and all that. But there's just something in the way they look so complete, gazing into each other's eyes like lovestruck fawns that makes his heart ache. He wants something like that one day. Though it seems impossible with the way he's managed to repel most of the boys at his school by even breathing the same air as them. He's snapped back to reality by his dad's sharp gray eyes. "Are you alright, Lou? You look a little pale."

Louis smiles weakly, tugging at his beanie self-consciously. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Are you sure? It's a little chilly. You're not getting a cold, are you? I think your nose is a little red. Maybe we should -"

"Dad, I'm fine," he reassures. "I'm not sick. C-Can we just stay here for a while? I want to people watch." He can't remember the last time he was outside to be outside. He's always doing something. Whether that's rushing to his car to avoid the frosty spring air, or running his muscles dry at football practice. Yes, he thinks he wants to just sit here for a while. He can actually breathe.

Louis sees a combination of everything really, and he's amazed at the variety. He didn't expect to see so many different life stories pass by his eyes in such a small town. But he does. He sees young families, old couples, best friends, two people who obviously have a crush on each other based on the blush on their cheeks, and he knows all of them - their names anyway. He just never thought to really compare his life to anyone else's before. A little girl even throws a fit because her dad doesn't have money to buy her a donut, and Louis didn't really want to intrude, but he does anyway. Walking up to the counter, he pays for the donut himself and gives it to her. The sparkle and adoration in her bright eyes is enough to renew a little bit of that flame that is the old Louis deep within him, and the dad gives him a beautiful, gracious smile. Louis just smiles back.

Eventually they decide to go back after lunch, as all good things end. And Louis thinks he sees the back of Harry's head once as they walk along. He almost trips on a crack in the sidewalk before realizing that the head of hair is not curly enough, breath stuttering in fear and his heart hammers faster. It's then that he realizes how ridiculous he's being. It's really his dad's fault though.

"Lou, you still haven't brought that boyfriend of yours home yet."

"I don't have one," he chuckles, rolling his eyes slightly because he knows he's teasing him.

"That's a bloody crime, that is. Especially after you gave that little girl a donut. You even melted my poor old heart."

Louis' cheeks turn red and blotchy, and he hides his face behind his hand. "Dad, please stop. I don't want a boyfriend."

He clicks his tongue in disbelief, mouth twitching like he doesn't believe him. And frankly, Louis doesn't believe himself either. "You know, Lou. My friend from work, Joe, has a son who's in Uni right now. Just got back from break actually, so he's in town and everything. I've heard nice things about the boy. He's apparently top of his class at London University, and he's majoring in law. If that doesn't scream impressive, I'm not sure what will."

Honestly, he's surprised that his dad would offer an older man, but considering his options, maybe it makes sense. He probably thinks they'll be more mature than a high school boy. And he's probably right. The boys at his school are idiots. Take Niall for example. But, even then, he kind of feels like his dad is pressing on him to take this next step in his life, and he's not sure if he's ready. Especially with someone he's never met.

"I can ask Joe to set up a date, if you'd like?"

"I don't know, dad. Now really isn't the best time. I've got football finals and studying -"

"When will you ever be ready then, Lou? Every time I ask, you say you're too busy. You always have your nose in a book. Why don't you put those books away for once in your life and actually have some fun. Normally, a parent would be relieved to have a child like that, but I've seen it for almost eighteen years, and I'd like to see you be an actual teenager for once. Just to make sure I didn't totally screw you up." Louis frowns. His dad thinks he's a screw up? Well, that hurts. That's a fucking punch to the chest, more like. "Just give it a shot? You don't have to go on a date or anything with him. Just meet him a couple of times and then I'll let you decide. He's a nice lad, I'm sure."

He feels lucky enough that his dad accepts his sexuality this well and is willing to help make him happy. But is setting him up on a blind date going to make him any less of a screw up? He doesn't want to go on a date at all. The idea of being alone with a guy and having all the attention on him makes him a little nauseous. Maybe he should just get a cat instead. It sounds like a good plan to him.

"Can't I be a normal teenager without dating another boy?" He stuffs his hands in his pockets and jogs his arms up and down anxiously. "I don't think I'm ready."

"Louis, you're one of the most mature teenagers I've ever met. I honestly think you'll be much better equipped than any other couples at your school who only get together for popularity or to not be excluded from social norms. You've waited this long. I think you should start looking. You don't want to end up alone, do you? Because your future husband won't wait for you forever. Eventually he'll get bored of chasing you and go after someone else. You'll have to go out and look for him too. It's scary the first time you throw yourself into something unknown, I know. But it's how it works. Take your stepmother and I for example. If she hadn't started a conversation with me on the bus, then we wouldn't be where we are now. And I wouldn't change that for anything in the world."

Louis chews his lip. Maybe he's right. Maybe he should start looking. "Sure, okay. I'll give him a shot."

His dad looks pleased. "Aw, my Lou is growing up."

"Stop," he warns, holding up a finger.

*********

His dad gives him a look as soon as they get back home, and he raises his eyebrows. "We're going to have a quick family meeting. Go sit in the living room while I get your brother."

"What about mum?"

His mouth parts at the term, and a happy sparkle appears in his father's eyes. He seems so pleased that Louis has finally accepted that his girlfriend is a part of the family. It's been many years since he's seen that twinkle - since his mum died. Louis doesn't have the heart to tell him it was a slip of the mouth.

"She's at the grocery store, but this is just about you and Harry." Louis juts his bottom lip out in irritation. Why does he insist on trying to fix everything between them. Wouldn't it be healthier if they worked it out themselves? Louis thinks so. "I need you boys to do something for me." And, okay, that's not exactly what he was expecting.

He disappears down the hallway, and Louis hears the rasp of his fist on the door and Harry's low voice. He shivers, sinking into his spot on the couch and chewing on his thumbnail while he waits for them to come back. Harry purposefully avoids his eyes when he enters, no matter how long and intensely Louis begs him to look. He wonders just how much he remembers from last night or if he has the same regrets and anxiety that he has about it.

His dad hands them old towels from a bottom drawer in the kitchen and fills a bucket with water and soap. "Here." He shoves the water at Harry and the rags at Louis. "Chore time!" He chirps.

Harry groans out loud, but Louis just bites his lip. He doesn't necessarily oppose chores, unless it involves weight-bearing. But what would they do with these materials? Clean the floor? "What the hell is this for?" Harry voices the question that has been swirling in his brain.

"You lucky lads have the joy of cleaning the cars. Make sure they shine, boys. I want to see my reflection."

Louis purses his lips, cocking his head in a smart-arse kind of way. "Are you sure there's not an alternative motive for doing this?" He keeps the question quiet, hiding it from Harry's ears the best he can, and his dad just smiles. This is definitely mostly just for bonding time with Harry. "Actually, dad. I have to study -"

"Louis, you've been studying nonstop for the past week. I think you'll be okay." Ugh.

Going back outside, the afternoon sun feels nice on his face and hands and he decides he can shed his coat, and he does, leaving himself in a t-shirt. His dad leads Louis around the side of their small house to where the hose is. He helps him unwind it and drag it over to where Harry's waiting, bucket by his feet. It's a win-win situation according to his dad - being productive and bonding together, though Louis completely disagrees. Once they get the hose untangled, he leaves them to it and the air turns silent. He briefly looks into Harry's emerald eyes and coughs, starting by waving him aside and rinsing the first car down.

It all goes pretty smoothly until Harry decides to take his revenge on him now and take the hose from him. For what, he's not entirely sure, but he gets a kick out of it either way. His spindly thumb slots over the end and the water goes everywhere, sprinkling him. Louis jumps back in disbelief. "What the fuck, Harry?" His stepbrother just sprays him again. A large wet spot develops on the front of his shirt, and Louis listens, appalled, to the water drip from his clothes onto the pavement. Harry raises his lips into a smirk. A light breeze runs across their driveway and raises goosebumps on his damp skin.

"You're an arse," he states, putting a hand on his soggy hip.

Without a response, he goes back to scrubbing the car, flinching and expecting another spray each time Harry moves in his peripheral vision. Louis' only able to crack his uncomfortable silence when he has to practically bend over the hood to reach the middle of the windshield and Harry's staring when he looks over his shoulder.

"Are you going to help me or are you just going to stand there and stare at my arse?"

Harry simply smirks, and Louis has no idea what to make of that. He wonders if maybe, just maybe he's not mad at him after all. Harry doesn't seem nearly as upset as he was before - when they started. He's looking at him now, at least. He walks away briefly, around the side of the house, to turn off the hose and grabs his rag off where it's hanging on his shoulder, dipping it in the soapy bucket and starting on the window next to him.

"I was not staring at your arse," he states defensively. "Though it does make me wish I had done more squats." Louis scoffs, watching his muscles bulge and constrict, then flicks over the rest of him, focusing on the red patterned fabric that seem to be permanently wrapped around his curls.

"Why do you always wear that stupid bandana?"

The smirk dips into a frown. "Stupid?"

Louis doesn't want to admit he only thinks it's stupid because he looks better without. Though, stupid was probably a bad way to describe it. "Sorry, not stupid."

He fingers the fabric on his head, sucking in his bottom lip and tucking in a stray curl that, frankly, had been driving Louis crazy. "Why do you always wear glasses?" he retorts. "I know you don't really need them." That's a very good question actually. To be honest, he doesn't really know himself.

"I feel bare without them," he answers truthfully. "Like my face is naked. I don't know. It's an insecurity thing."

Harry doesn't seem to have been prepared for him to actually answer. But maybe it's time he starts answering. Maybe if they start being honest with each other, they'll find a way to get along. "Insecure about what?"

"Everything."

He suddenly halts his cleaning, frown still clear on his features. It's wrong. It doesn't look right. Harry's face was made to smile, not frown. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"I'm trying to make this work." Louis says softly, flicking a finger between them. A breathtaking smile splits across Harrys lips, and he believes that for once it's actually genuine. His heart skips a beat, not quite understanding how it could be directed at him.

When he's not looking, Harry sneaks back around to the hose crank and turns the water back on. And he turns, only to come face to face with Harry with a hose. Oh god, not again. He quickly puts his hands up in surrender, not wanting to get wet again. "Harry, put the hose down before someone gets hurt."

Harry doesn't hold back this time, hitting him full-on with the spray. It resembles a bunch of needles slicing into his skin and he splutters, jumping to the side. It's not as successful as he had hoped. Harry keeps it aimed on him, following him with the water, and he squeals because he can't escape. Freezing water just keeps slapping his chest. "It's so cold! Harry!" He stops only when he's soaked from head to toe, and Louis gapes. "What the hell was that for?"

He reaches up to wipe off his glasses with his sleeve, but it's still foggy and damp. It's hard to see the expression on his face, but he can hear a roll of bubbly laughter rise from his throat. It's husky and beautiful. But that doesn't really surprise him anymore. Louis has the sudden and very strong urge to wonder if he has a girlfriend. Surely he does. How could he not?

Louis keeps the repulsion clear on his face and wrings out his shirt. "You're not exactly making ground on the whole getting along thing right now. My dad would be very disappointed."

Harry's white teeth glint in the sunlight. "I beg to differ."

Huffing, he rips the hose from his hands and turns it on him. Harry gasps in shock, squirming. "Shit, that's cold."

"Told ya."

Louis kind of regrets it immediately after though as he can see his tattoos through his wet shirt and a good portion of his muscled chest. It's kind of really aesthetically pleasing. Water drips down his tanned face and over the curve of his lips, disappearing as it hits his white teeth. His curls aren't very wet so he rips his gaze from his chest and aims there. He tries, unsuccessfully, to block the stream and reaches for the hose.

"Stop!"

His breathing is rough as if the cold knocked the air right out of him. "I give up," he chants. "I give up. Put it down, put it down." Louis feels pretty accomplished after that, so he finally puts it down by his side. "Thank you," he pants. There are goosebumps all over his golden skin and he looks like a wet dog. But, you know . . . Hotter. His body shivers, and he licks over his wet lip before spitting it out. "Oh God, that tastes awful."

"You asked for it."

His soggy headband sags down into his face and he flinches, peeling it off. Louis can't help the laugh that snorts out. "You look ridiculous."

Scowling in displeasure, he leans over and shakes his hair out, ruffling it with his hands so that it flings at Louis, and he squeaks. "Ah!" There's a moment of silence where Harry's fixing his curls with a chuckle, and Louis' just staring without his immediate knowledge, but it's a pleasant kind of silence. One where you don't really feel the need to say something because it's not awkward, and he likes that.

"Are we cool then? You're not mad at me, are you?"

Harry let's out a long sigh, putting a hand casually on the car beside his shoulder. His large hand a is stark contrast to his shoulder. He looks like someone who likes to - or could -manhandle someone. Not in a bad way, per say, Louis would like to add. "Who said I was mad at you?"

Louis shrugs, confused. "Aren't you? I got you in trouble."

"Mmm, nope."

"Not even about last night?"

"What about last night would make you think I was mad at you?" Amusement glitters in his eyes, turning them a sparkly green.

"Depends," Louis says slowly, cautiously. "How much do you remember?"

"I remember these." Without so much as a warning, Harry touches his lips, running his thumb down and grabbing his bottom lip. He lets it pop back when his heart seemingly falters and his cheeks flame. His lip hums pleasantly where Harry touched him, and Louis kind of wants to feel it pulse under his fingertips. "Do you use lip balm?"

"I didn't realize they were memorable." Louis feels jittery and awkward, palms becoming moist against his thighs. Because Harry just touched his fucking lips. On purpose. And he blurted something really stupid and not at all smooth.

"I wasn't that drunk."

Harry smirks when Louis is struck dumb, ribcage constricting as he processes the words he just said. But he was acting like a child...Surely he was a little drunk, right? The front door clicks open and his dad comes out, stalking down the sidewalk, and Harry takes a step back. "I don't see a lot of scrubbing going on out here. What's going on? Do you need more soap - Louis, are you alright?"

Louis' face is red and his head down, heart thumping painfully against his chest. So, is he alright? No, not really. "Peachy."

Harry salutes his dad. "We'll get right on it, sir."


	20. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. Many. Innuendos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all like sexual tension hehe

Stumbling into the living room after a long, strenuous day of school, he fumbles upon Harry laying on the couch. His legs are tossed up on top of the couch, and his head is hanging upside down, eyes following the movement of the characters on the Telly. He strains to look up at him when he comes in, green glazed in boredom. Is this all he did all day? He knows he's grounded and all, but Louis couldn't sit there and watch television for eight hours straight. "Hey, Louis."

"Hi."

He rolls over onto his stomach, crawling over so he can sit up and face him properly. His fingers rub at his eyes, and he gazes over his footie kit with something that looks very similar to longing. "How was practice?"

"School was great, thanks for asking." Harry rolls his eyes, but he smiles a little bit. "Um, practice was decent, I guess. It's very quiet now that Connor is suspended."

"I'm so bored," he moans. "Come entertain me."

Louis looks at his dirty practice jersey, pulling it out to see a giant grass strain across his stomach. His neck and underarms feel sticky with sweat, and he feels uncomfortable with Harry just looking at him. He feels absolutely repulsing. "Um, can I take a shower first?"

Harry cocks his head, but then his eyes light up, and he jogs out into the garage. Louis huffs in disbelief, running his hand through his sweaty hair. Well, he doesn't have to be rude about it. He enters the kitchen instead, munching on a cookie dough flavored granola bar, not entirely sure where Harry ran off to or if he's expected to wait for him. The garage doesn't hold much except boxes of old stuff and sporting equipment.

After a couple minutes, he hears the door to the garage open up, and he wanders to find him, halting in surprise when he sees him holding an orange football. Harry grins when he sees him, holding it up. "How 'bout a game?"

He feels his muscles already shrieking in protest at the thought of more exercise. His quads feel like jelly, and his calves feel tight. Is more exercise really a good idea? He might re-injure his knee. "Harry, I'm tired. And my knee is killing me."

"I've been stuck inside all day," he groans. "C'mon. I don't want to play by myself. It's no fun. And, besides, who's going to be the goalie?"

Louis takes a deep breath. "Fine, okay. Whatever. Let's go." At least he doesn't have to do much running.

Immediately following the closing of the back door, Harry sprints off away from him, dropping the ball at his feet. He places the bottom of his foot on top, rolling it back and forth eagerly as he wants for Louis to walk stiffly towards the goal. Louis pauses at the small, portable goal that they have set up in the backyard, tugging his tight cleats off and sighing in relief when he feels the cool grass through his socks. He dumps his smelly shin guards in the yard as well, hoping Harry can't actually smell him from where he's standing. He's probably used to the scent, but Louis still finds the thought mortifying because it definitely doesn't smell pleasant.

"Ready?"

A chilly breeze floats through the air, carrying Harry's deep voice to him and ruffles his hair. "Yeah."

He taps the ball with the outside of his foot a couple times, lifting his gaze every once in a while. Then he does a couple of moves through the grass, apparently utilizing the many sticks as defenders, and Louis sighs exasperatedly. "Stop showing off and just shoot the damn ball." Louis hopes his voice sounds playful and not as snappy as it did to him because he didn't mean it to be rude. He's just very tired.

"As you wish."

Harry stops the ball, backing up a couple of feet before bounding forward and sending a rocket towards the goal. Louis dives to punch it away from the right corner of the goal. His fingertips only graze the skin of the ball though, and it spins sharply into the net with a crack. Louis huffs, pulling himself off the ground with a groan.

"Nice shot," he grumbles.

Louis moves to pull it from the net, but Harry bets him to it, handing it to him with a sideways tilt of his head. "Something tells me you don't want to shoot."

"Wow, how'd you guess?" He asks sarcastically.

"How good are you at juggling?" He inquired curiously, letting Louis' small hands take the ball. "If you're not up for being the goalie, we could just practice keeping the ball up."

He shrugs modestly. "Decent."

"Show me."

Louis spins it a few times in his hand, looking at Harry's face for a second. "Okay."

With a deep breath, he drops the ball, quickly moving to tap it with the top of his foot. It doesn't take long for him to find a steady rhythm, just passing it back and forth between his feet, and Harry stands back, leaning against the goal post so he can watch him. Something in his expression gives him the inclination that he seems slightly impressed with the ease he's performing with, and he can't help but want to show off for him. His pulse quickens just knowing how closely those green eyes are analyzing him, and his stomach dips when his lips part. He starts kicking it just a little harder, letting it move higher and higher each time before actually sending one high enough to go backwards over his shoulder, and then he uses the back of his heel to bring it back and continue.

"Fuck, you're so good. How'd you learn to handle balls like that?"

Louis' face blushes hotly, trying extra hard not to mess up. It seems like he doesn't really realize how dirty that sounded, watching with awe. Though Louis might be more surprised that he actually interpreted it as some type of sex joke. He's never thought about that stuff before Harry started coming here. "Well, our coach used to play for Leicester. He was my recreational coach for a while too when I played club, so I've been trained by a professional for as long as I can remember. You pick up a few tricks here and there."

"Shit, that's awesome." Harry takes the bandana out of his curls, ruffling them up so they look freshly mangled. It doesn't really seem fair that he's doing that right in front of him when he's trying to concentrate. He wraps it around his wrist, shifting his weight on his feet. "Maybe when I come back, I should get his autograph. Leicester is my life."

Louis freezes mid juggle. The ball doesn't halt much though, and it comes back down to hit the top of his head. He winces but just grabs it. "Oh, hell no. I can't be brothers with someone who like Leicester. Traitor. I'm disowning you."

Harry laughs huskily. "What? You're disowning me? I don't think that's much of your decision."

"Chelsea will beat your arse."

Recognition flashes across his eyes like a slap to the face. "Oh, you're a Chelsea fan." He smirks, looking him up and down. "Makes sense."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You're feisty." He states as if it's obvious.

"And I have a better taste in football teams apparently. You shouldn't stereotype every Chelsea fan you come across."

"Leicester has Jamie Vardy."

"Chelsea can play football."

"We're the mighty foxes. Small and sly."

"Lions eat foxes."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too."

A dazzling grin spreads across his face as if he's amused by their conversation, and his eyes light up, sparkling a green that puts the newly budding trees to shame. "Aren't they playing each other, like, tomorrow or something?"

"I think so. Planning on watching it with me, Styles?"

"Maybe."

Louis bounces the ball in his hand. "Chelsea's still going to kick your arse. Don't think I'll take my cheering lightly just because there's a Leicester fan in the room."

"Bring it on. I can take a little screaming."

The back door of the house clicks open, capturing both of their attention. "Are you boys out here?" Harry's mum sticks her head out of the glass door, appearing startled to see both of them talking within a reasonable distance without wrestling on the ground. "Oh, good. It's almost suppertime, boys. Start wrapping up so you can come inside." 

Louis glances at the horizon, and, sure enough, the sky is turning a brilliant orange color. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't stay out too late boys," she warns again, just for good measure.

Noticing that Harry's full attention is on his mum, he drops the ball to his feet with a sudden urge to piss him off. How dare he think Leicester is better? He kicks it straight at Harry and it hits his stomach. A pained groan immediately leaves his lips as he doubles over, and Louis smirks. 

"Shit," he wheezes.

"Louis, don't hit your brother." 

"No promises." She disappears back inside, and he laughs at the boy clutching his stomach in pain.

"Why, you little shit -" Kicks it back at him and he squeals, whipping around so that it hits his lower back, and he arches from it with a gasp. Skin continues to tingle when the ball bounces to a stop on the ground. "That's for Leicester, bitch!"

"Ow! Okay, no more intentional kicking."

Louis sighs, rubbing his back, and Harry genuinely tilts his head in what looks like concern, asking if he's okay with his eyes. He just nods curtly, chipping the football into the air and does a few juggles and a rainbow before punting it back to Harry. "Shit, you need to teach me how to do that."

"Why would I do that?" He challenges, folding his arms and cocking his hip as Harry catches it easily in his large hands. 

Harry gives him a pleading grin that may or may not have made his stomach flip. "Because you love your little brother?" he prompts. Uh, no. The giant red circle on his back says otherwise.

"Eh." Louis pretends to be disinterested, picking at his nails instead of looking at his face.

"Aw, c'mon, Louis. I've been nice. Teach me your methods. Don't I get a reward?"

Louis gives him a look. "What are you, a dog?"

"Please? We never learned to at my old club." His bottom lip juts out, head tilting every so slightly, and, damn. No. Not the puppy dog face. Between those hopeful, big green eyes and full lips, he can't say no. "I've always wanted to do a rainbow."

He sighs. "Alright."

Motioning him closer, he shows him how to line the ball up between his large feet and demonstrates the rolling of the ball onto the toe of his foot and then the kick back. "Then you just flick it up and over like that." He easily catches it on the top of his foot. And Harry tries to do it, but he just trips and it bounces backwards, so that the crinkles between his eyebrows deepen.

"Keep your hips straight." Louis advises, nudging Harry's foot out sit that he's in a more erect position.

"Maybe you should hold them." Harry supplies cheekily. "You know, like, in all of those cheesy movies. The teacher always gropes the student." Louis snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. This boy, he swears.

"Try it again. This time, try not to swivel too much."

After the first couple of times, he still hasn't managed to do it, but that doesn't concern him. He's got the technique well, but his kick up is weak in strength. He just needs to hit it at the right angle. "Don't worry, it just takes some practice -" Louis immediately halts when he gets it on the next one, and he sighs. Of course.

Harry smiles, pushing Louis' shoulder as if he just won the lottery. "I did it!"

"Yes, I can see that."

He attempts it once again, but messes it up and it rolls halfway between Harry and him. Louis calculates the distance quickly, smirking when Harry doesn't see him and rushes to steal the ball from him before he can get there, spinning away. "Hey!" He protests weakly.

"You snooze, you lose, Styles."

His legs still feel a little sore, and his movements are a smudge sloppy, but somehow he still outpaces Harry. Harry's lanky legs try to get it back, chasing after him, but Louis just shifts it away from his touch every time he makes a jab at him, and he visibly gets frustrated. Eventually, he just gives up, tossing his hands onto his knees and waving him off, panting. "You suck."

"Come on, Harry. Can't keep up?" he teases. "Or am I too quick for you?"

Harry watches him closely after that comment, eyes blazing, and he narrows them in concentration, dragging his tongue over his lip, calculating. Louis makes the mistake of hesitating to stare, and Harry lunges forward when he's not ready, nearly making him squeal. He tries to dodge the attack, but their legs tangle in the valiant attempt. Louis falls on his bum, and Harry's large body knocks the wind from his lungs when he lands right across his chest. It feels like getting hit with a brick ton of muscle, and somehow, when the world stops falling, he's met face to face with Harry and the sky. Louis' cheeks color when he notices just how close they are, and to fill the awkwardness he feels, he fixes his crooked glasses.

His hands shift in the grass beside his head. "Hello." His voice comes out a deep whisper, and Louis swallows.

Deciding that this is beyond his comfort, Louis squirms. "Seriously," he says, fumbling to unknot themselves after an awkward moment of silence. "How are you so good at football? You're so clumsy. You can't even stay on your own two feet. It literally makes zero sense."

"It's like bad writing."

"That it is."

"Boys, your food is getting cold!" 

Their step mum shouts out at them through the back door again, and Harry stands up slowly, dusting the grass from his shirt. Then he reaches down for Louis, and he wastes no time grabbing it. There's a soft spark as they touch, but Louis shrugs it off. With a grunt, Harry yanks him up in one movement, and it's so forceful, he rocks a little on his feet and has to grab his bicep for a second to steady himself. It's solid, and Louis feels himself warm when he looks at him.

He quickly retracts his hand. "Sorry."

Harry looks down, twisting his neck to look at his backside. "You've got dirt on your bum."

Louis scrambles to twist in circles and brush it off. Only there is no dirt, and Louis whips back around with a displeased look only to see his smug face. He winks over his shoulder, and Louis' starting to wonder if he has a thing for his bum.

Harry squeezes past his mum in the doorway. "Hey, mum."

"Come on, Louis. Supper time."

The house is nice and warm when he enters, smelling of something delicious. His mum starts setting up the table, arranging the silverware and plates, and Harry sits down at the table, leaning back and pulling out his phone. His dad touches his shoulder from behind and motions into the living room. "Lou, can I talk to you for a second?" He frowns, but follows his dad into the living room.

It was meant to be a question just for Louis, but both Harry and his mum glance up. "Don't take too long, love. I already took the food out of the oven."

Once they're alone, his dad doesn't waste time. "I talked to Joe today about that meeting, and he said that Jake will be willing to meet you for coffee or something Thursday after school. I don't want to make you feel like you have to, but I think you should go. A half hour with this boy won't kill you."

Louis scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip. A rush of full-blown nerves clench his stomach, and he really wants to chicken out. Maybe it's not too late to change his mind. "Okay." Dammit.

Harry nudges him under the table when he gets back, expression curious. "What was that about?"

He just shrugs.

*********

After school Wednesday, he doesn't even bother to drop his bag off or say hi to Harry, immediately scurrying up the steps to his bedroom. He can't afford to waste any time. This is a life or death situation. He settles down on his bed, quickly turning the television in his room to the Leicester-Chelsea game. Only when the reception comes in does he breathe a sigh of relief. Finally. He can't wait to rub his team's victory in Harry's beautiful face.

Five minutes into the game coverage though, the knob to his door tweaks, and Harry slips in, a bowl of popcorn in his hands. Their eyes meet, and Louis raises an eyebrow. He thought he told him never to come into his room. His chest heaves in a breath, and he smiles, rattling the kernels in the bowl. It seems to be some kind of peace offering for violating his rules. "I figured I'd find you here. Care if you have some company?"

Louis wants to be mad. He does because he invaded his privacy, but he's not, so he just pats the bed beside him. Harry quickly lays down next to him, placing the bowl in front of him.

"I brought popcorn."

"I can see that." Louis reaches out and grabs a few, popping them in his mouth. "Thanks."

His green eyes wander over his walls, taking in the football posters and stickers lining it. "I like your room. Justin Bieber, nice choice."

Louis glances over his stepbrother when his gaze is locked on the wall, noticing that he's wearing a bright blue Leicester jersey. He snorts, flicking popcorn at him. "How dare you wear that repulsive thing in my room? I'm going to have to disinfect it later."

The kernels hit his face, making him blink and flinch in shock. "Oh, no you didn't." Louis shrugs. "You have no idea what you just started." Harry runs his fingers along the side of the bowl, gathering a substantial amount of grease before wiping it on Louis' cheek, and all Louis can do is gape.

"You arse!"

Louis pounces on him and rubs his cheek into his curls. They're so soft. It feels like clouds against his prickly scruff, and they smell like orchard apples. Not just any apples. The kind of apples you smother in cinnamon and sugar and bake inside a pie. It's almost really embarrassing that he wants to moan.

Harry screams and flails, trying to swat him off. "No! Not the hair!"

It quickly turns into a wrestle match, but it's not much of one really because Harry pins him easily. They both are breathing a little heavier as he grabs both his wrists in his hand and shoves them above his head with a triumphant smirk. "Leicester wins."

He doesn't even let Louis get a reply in as he moves to sit on his chest and pulls his feet in nonchalantly, nursing a can of pop he didn't even realize he had.

Louis grunts. "Harry, you weigh like five thousand pounds. You're crushing me! Get off!"

"Nope."

"I can't see the bloody screen!"

"Admit that Leicester is better, and then I'll let you sit up." Dick.

"I'd rather be crushed by your elephant bum."

"So be it." Ugh.

He suddenly smirks and makes a weird sound in the back of his throat, popping popcorn into his mouth. "Oh, would you look at that. It's starting." Only then does he hear the cheer of the crowd as they finish the national anthem, and he squirms, trying to see. All he does is manage to roll onto his stomach instead.

Desperate, he mumbles it, barely audible to human ears.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Leicester is the best."

"Damn right they are."

Harry finally steps off, and Louis huffs, sitting up and rubbing his chest. "I think you broke, like, all twelve of my ribs."

"You need a little pain."

"No, I really don't. My knee is killing me enough." It's not even an exaggeration. When he un-bends it, it sends rockets of pain up his spine. "Ow, ow, ow!"

Harry looks at him, motioning towards his leg as if asking for permission to do something. And Louis, being the curious shit he is, can only nod, wondering just what he thinks he's going to do. Inserting his hand under his bare thigh, he gently pulls his leg into his lap and kneads the muscle around his knee, tongue poking out and eyebrows knitting tightly. It stings a little at first, but then he moves his thumbs up to work into his lower quad, and Louis doesn't even care about the game anymore.

His hands are like magic - his own personal pain killer. The skin to skin contact sets his skin ablaze, yet he breaks out in goosebumps, and Harry doesn't even comment about it. "We can't have our captain having a bad knee, now can we?"

He looks up with a grin, and all Louis can do is stifle a moan, lip nearly bleeding from how hard he's biting it. "Mhm."

The sound of the television speakers gets incredibly louder, and they both glance up. Louis feels pretty shitty about completely missing the first twenty minutes of the game. Though Harry doesn't stop, and he's pleasantly surprised to see that Chelsea had scored. "Ha! Suck it, Styles!"

His stepbrother's gaze falls back to his bruised knee. "I'd love to."

It takes a while for him to process what he said, and even then he's still confused. Louis blinks. "Wait . . . what?"

"What?"

Most of the rest of the half is silent between them, the only sounds coming from the television. But it's not awkward or tense. Harry adjusts him in his lap so he can watch better, and Louis just takes his leg back because he already feels so much better, and he doesn't want to take his attention from the game when he knows he wants to see it as much as he does.

At halftime, Harry mutes the tv, and Louis frowns. "I have a confession."

"You're bald," he guesses.

Harry smiles. "Uh, no."

"You've been abducted by aliens."

"No."

"Hm, you hide the bodies of your exes under the floorboards."

A snort of a laugh leaves his lips, but somehow it's still sexy. "What the hell? No. That's morbid."

"You have six toes."

"No, but I have four nipples."

His blue eyes widen. Well that's new. He doesn't remember that. Is he messing with him, or is he serious? "Are you sure you weren't abducted by aliens?"

"Eh." He tilts his hand back and forth in a shake, and Louis laughs. "But, again, not what I was going to say."

"You're so mysterious. Lay it on me."

Harry looks almost embarrassed. "I guess I should start with why I was acting like an arse when I first got here. I didn't know that I was going to have a stepbrother. I was surprised . . . after Sunday, I thought for sure that you were going to be a dick, but you're actually pretty cool. And I guess I just wasn't prepared to have someone get shoved into my life."

"I don't get it. What's the confession?"

"It's been killing me." He takes a deep breath, fiddling with his fingers.

"What is?"

"This secret."

"Well, get on with it. Don't leave me in suspense."

He inhales sharply as if bracing himself. "I'm the one who kind of . . . maybe . . . set our parents up together."

Now it's Louis' turn to suck in a deep breath, sitting up. "What?"

"I set our -"

"No, I heard you the first time." His voice comes out a little snappy, and Harry looks offended, looking down into the popcorn instead of his eyes.

"It was an accident! My mum was making googly eyes at your dad, and I don't know! I just . . . you know, gave her a little nudge." He licks his lips, trying to compose himself, but Louis can tell he's nervous. "To be fair, I didn't know he had a kid. I just wanted my mum to be happy again. She hasn't been quite the same since my dad left us."

Louis stares off into space, at his Justin Bieber poster more appropriately because he doesn't know what else to do with his eyes. If he looks at Harry, he'll see guilt and if he looks at the door, he might take that as a cue to leave when he doesn't even know what he wants Harry to do. He can't help but think of all the times Harry's saved his ass already, and how despite their aggressive first impressions, he's actually kind of funny and sweet. But he's also the reason that they're stuck together, and the one who completely turned his life upside down in the course of a week. It makes his brain whirl in indecision.

Harry waves a hand in front of his face after a minute of silence. "Louis?" And he bites his lip when he looks up. "Are you mad?"

"I-I don't know. I don't know what to think."

Louis doesn't say anything else.

It clearly drives Harry mad. The silence. He ducks his head under his to look up at him, curls falling into his lap. "Louis," he sings.

"Harry."

He frowns, nudging Louis' stomach. And Louis squeaks, rubbing it. "C'mon, don't be like that. I didn't mess up that badly, right? This was before I even knew you existed. You can't be mad at me for that." He looks over him to keep watching the game. "You're very photogenic from this angle. Nice nostrils."

Louis picks up some popcorn and eats it. "Louis, stop ignoring me."

"Mhm."

"At least tell me if you're mad or not. I think I deserve that much."

Just to be difficult, Louis asks, "What if I was?" But he just sighs when Harry's face deflates. "I'm not mad. If I was mad, I would've left a long time ago."

Harry hesitates. "Good."

"And you'd be missing a finger."

Louis' pleased to see a hint of a smile on his lips now. "How would that happen?"

"I'd bite it off and slap you with it."

"Kinky."

He wrinkles his nose. "Ew. That's disgusting. I genuinely hope that you're not one of those people who actually gets turned on by that kind of stuff."

"That's for me to know," Harry chirps with a smirk.

"And me to never find out, right?"

"Well -"

The TV erupts in noises, and he sees the Leicester players celebrate, running to the corner and tackling a lanky player with scruffy hair to the ground. Harry nudges him and smirks, but he can see he's holding himself back as if to not upset him again. He didn't even know the second half started. "It's tied."

"Stupid Vardy," Louis grumbles.

"You know what would be amazing?" Harry suddenly questions, eyes trained on the ceiling.

"Uh, no."

"If we raided your dad's alcohol stash."

Louis gives him a reproachful look, not liking where this is going. "He doesn't have any."

"Then he's been lying to you. Every grown man has a stash somewhere." Harry crawls over him to jump off the bed and dart down the stairs. Louis looks hesitantly at the screen, but then he hears the cupboards opening and closing, and he quickly follows. His curly head ducks into every single space, bending over so his bum is in the air and his Calvin Klein underwear pokes out. Now, Louis' never been quite this close to another male his age besides Niall, and he's certainly not experienced when it comes to sex, but, one thing he does know, is that Harry may be one of the sexiest people he's ever seen. And that's saying a lot since he knows what David Beckham looks like. That tanned waistline does stuff to him, and he really doesn't know why it makes him feel so warm. The worst part for him though, is knowing that he's not even trying to get his attention as easily as he is, yet he is.

"I don't think you should be doing this." Louis keeps a wary eye on the door just in case his dad comes out from the living room and catches them.

"You? I thought this was a 'we' thing. We're in this together, right?"

"I don't drink," he reminds him.

Harry halts his searching and looks over his shoulder. "Cover for me then."

"Haven't you had enough alcohol for one week?"

"I'll only admit I've had enough when my liver fails me." Louis frowns. That's entirely the wrong attitude to have towards your body. Especially one as nice as his.

Eventually, he finds one that he apparently approves of, and he grins, tilting the bottle so he can look at it. "Shit, your dad's got good stuff."

They both hear the couch creak in the other room, and Harry grabs his wrist, dragging him back upstairs.

"What is that?"

He grabs his cup and pours some into his coke. "Alcohol."

"Well, obviously," he snaps, rolling his eyes upwards.

"Jaeger. You want some?"

"I don't take handouts."

Harry smiles. "You don't trust me?"

"No."

"Shame. It's quite good."

He puts his cup back down with a satisfied sigh and then merely strips to his boxers. Right in front of him - with no remorse, and Louis blushes. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Getting comfy. I warned you about my aversion to clothing. You should learn to get used to it."

If it was Niall, he wouldn't care. But this is Harry. And Harry is really pretty. He has some trouble keeping his eyes to himself, what with his bare skin so close to him and the fact that his shoulder brushes against him. Harry himself seems oblivious, wiping popcorn crumbs off the blanket. But he's so close that when he turns his head to look to him, he can practically taste the alcohol on his breath, and it makes his head feel dizzy. And he does something very stupid.

"Can I have some?"

Harry looks stunned, but reaches down and grabs the bottle. "Are you sure?"

Louis swallows. "Yeah."

His green eyes are bright, pupils swollen. Louis reaches out to take it from him, but he pulls it back, and Louis gives him a 'what the fuck' look. They lock eyes. "Maybe you should start slow?" He sets it back on the floor, and snatches his cup instead, handing it over. "Try this. It's not as strong."

Louis coughs when he takes a sip, but it quickly settles over his tongue, and when he runs it over his teeth, it doesn't taste half bad. "That's good," he giggles.

Throughout the rest of the game, he keeps stealing it from him, and it doesn't take long for his brain to feel fuzzy, tingling, but he likes it. He guesses that that must make him a lightweight. Either that or Harry has a strong tolerance after drinking so much because he doesn't seem to be affected much at all. Harry stares at him.  
"Don't overdo it."

Louis grins. "You're a bad influence, Harry."

"Yeah, you're done." Harry takes it from him.

*********

When Louis becomes fully conscious again, he's aware of the strong bile clawing at his throat. Harry had passed out on the other end of the bed by the tv, and Louis' snuggling the whole head of the bed that's not currently being occupied by his stepbrother, socked feet on top of Harry's stomach. It's dark in his room, barely any light slipping in through the window, and Louis can guess that he missed supper. His head throbs violently and his stomach clenches and unclenches in a warning of what's to come. Panicking, he rushes over the figure to the trash can, immediately chucking up all the popcorn and coke he ingested. He feels awful. Worse than that time he had the stomach flu and couldn't leave his bathroom for five minutes. And for some reason, he just now remembers why he doesn't drink.

Louis' too busy with his head in the can that he doesn't notice he had woken Harry until he's just spitting anymore and breathing heavily. Then there's the soft creak of the floorboard under the carpet, and his stepbrother kneels next to him. He feels sticky and sweaty, the edge of his collar damp even though he took a shower right after practice. And when he stops vomiting, he feels his stomach cave and growl in protest for food, but he ignores it. He feels too nauseous to eat.

Harry's face is blank - eyes dark in the dim lighting, but he softly removes his glasses and puts them on the table. 

"I'm sorry."

"Hey." He waits till Louis looks at him, touching his arm slightly. "It's okay."

Louis groans when he hears his deep voice so close to his ear. The vibrato of it sends soft shockwaves of pain to the back of his skull. "My head hurts."

"That shouldn't surprise you."

He shakes his head quietly, bashfully. "No."

Once he's sure that he won't puke by standing up, he goes to the bathroom, too embarrassed to do anything else. He really wishes Harry hadn't seen that. There's just something about seeing someone else like that - shaking and vomiting that makes him feel vulnerable. He quickly brushes his teeth to rid his mouth of the awful taste and stumbles back into his room. The bag in his trash can is tied and Harry's splayed across his bed, eyes closed and chest rising and falling steadily.

He peeks his eye open when he gets closer, and he gets up so Louis can flop down. It feels like a hug from God - so welcoming, despite the fact that he's hungry. Knuckles rasp on the edge of the doorway to get his attention.

"I'll be in my room." His voice is soft, yet gruff with sleep, and he's already got his clothes and the half-empty bottle of alcohol in his hands. "I think you'll be okay by yourself."

"You're not going to stay?"

Harry leans against the frame, staring at him levelly. "Why should I?"

Louis rolls over onto his stomach, looking up at him. He tries to think of something and pry his still messed up brain, but he comes up with nothing. He's really glad his eyes are nearly impossible to make out in the darkness. "You're warm."

Harry shakes his head. "I don't think I should. Goodnight, Louis." He doesn't even hesitate before turning and closing the door behind him.

He gapes at the blatant rejection but burrows under the covers and swallows, the taste of vomit still on the back of his tongue. It's a much more entertaining idea than trying to think when it feels like all his brain cells are dying. He hugs the pillow to his head, squeezing his eyes closed, and wills the pain away till everything turns blissful, and he finally passes out. He hopes this inspires him to never drink again.


	21. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His name is Jake, but you may call him Jake from State Farm 😂  
> Hope y’all are doing well  
> Is anyone else afraid of relationships or is that just me?  
> I think I need therapy

Louis sets off for the cafe his dad set his date up at right after school on Thursday, feeling embarrassed about the heavy weight clinging to his back. It's the fact that he has to drag his school bag along that makes him feel so young and inexperienced. Because this isn't just any boy he's going to meet. No. This is a college boy. And the last thing he needs to be doing is making him seem younger than be already is. Oh, who is he kidding? He had to lie to his coach about his knee to even make it here on time, for God's sake, and he could hardly even handle that. A college boy could chew him up and spit him out.

He doesn't even begin to fathom what inspired him to even agree to meet up with him for coffee. Why would he want to spend his time with some high schooler when he could have, say, a man his own age? Louis' barely even legal.

When he reaches the cafe, it's near empty and quiet. It's the kind of silence that makes the few people inside turn to look at him as he comes in. Looking around, he believes he is the first there, but he doesn't exactly know what this boy looks like, so maybe he's wrong. There's a boy who looks like he might be Louis' age in the corner, but he's got headphones on and his eyes keep slipping closed like he's on the verge of passing out while reading whatever's on his computer screen, so Louis guesses it's not him.

Louis orders a tea for himself and sits in one of the corner booths, shuddering as he remembers what happened the last time he got coffee here. He definitely would not like a repeat of that. It was truly mortifying. He doesn't want to embarrass himself in the presence of a (possibly) attractive male again. And it's that fear that gets his heart pumping. Louis doesn't think he'll be able to function properly. He's terrified enough as is. To the point where his hands shake and sweat a little, and he wipes them on his skinny jeans nervously. He glances up at the clock every few seconds, expecting it to have moved a significantly larger amount than it actually does.

Waiting's the worst part though. It only feeds his anxiety. And he spends a good five minutes stirring sugar into the dark liquid and watching it magically disappear - like he wish he could - before there's a shuffle by his booth, and he looks up. By that time, he's a real fucking mess.

When he looks up, his mouth goes dry. Dear lord. This is going to end horribly.

There. Standing above him. Is probably one of the most attractive people he's ever seen. His hair is caramel colored, darker underneath and lighter on top and wavy. Louis' an absolute sucker for curls, though he'd never admit that. And he's got light gray eyes and a warm smile that makes his insides flutter. This isn't right. This guy is in law school, for goodness sake! How can he be this attractive and that smart? He, honestly, was anticipating someone a little lankier than the muscled boy in front of him.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to be Louis, would you?"

When he speaks, he almost expects it to be deeper and raspy. But it's not. It's about average, maybe a little higher. And Louis feels disappointed for some reason. Maybe it's an expectation because he's older.

Heat rises to his cheeks, and he stutters when he finally stops gaping and finds his voice. "Y-Yes, this is he." Oh, shut it, Louis. That was beyond stupid. Get a hold of yourself.

The man sticks his hand out with a brighter grin, and they shake. He's got a very strong grip, and he can tell he works out. And okay. Now Louis is impressed. Damn, he can't wait for college. "Nice to meet you. I'm Jake. I believe that I have the pleasure of accompanying you for a few minutes." He gestures to the other side of the booth, shedding his jacket. "May I sit?"

"Y-Yes, of course. Please sit."

Jake settles down across from him, laying his coat on the seat and shooting Louis small glances. It's only then that Louis notices he's staring quite openly, and he tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear, looking down. He needs a haircut soon. It's getting longer. And, shit. Did he forget to shave this morning? He runs a hand subtly over his chin, nearly cursing, and wonders if he should've gotten tea at all now. Jake's going to think he looks like a homeless bum. He feels nauseous. "When my father said that you were cute, I wasn't sure what to believe. I mean, my dad tends to over exaggerate to convince me to actually do things. Like law school for example. He was totally lying about the fun part. But I can see he was right this time. Cute is a strong understatement. I love your glasses. They're adorable." Louis bites his lip and blushes, not knowing what to say in response to something like that, but luckily he doesn't have to. Jake taps his fingers on the table and sighs, looking at him seriously. "I'm going to be honest. I was a little hesitant to meet you here for coffee. I wasn't sure if I wanted to get involved with a high school boy, not to be mean or anything. Just that you're a little younger than I would've picked out for myself. I mean, it's just a cup of coffee - or I guess, tea, in your case. But I know a lot of people would find that a little weird, so I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable or anything."

Louis feels a little bit better knowing that he's not the only one who was a tad nervous. "Yeah, no. I get that. It's not you that's making me uncomfortable. It's just - this is kind of the first time I've been alone with a boy who wasn't my best mate or stepbrother. Or not at school."

A smile spreads across his lips, revealing a set of nice teeth, but Louis doesn't find it as attractive as he should. They're too perfect, he thinks. "You have a stepbrother? That's cool. Tell me about him."

Louis feels himself relaxing into the soft cushions of the booth, a bubbly sense that this boy is actually genuinely interested in trying to get to know him. He didn't immediately turn and run away. So that's got to be a good sign, right? Louis' given him ample time to dart, if he was actually motivated to do so. But he looks completely content, resting his arm on the back of the seat and waiting patiently for Louis' answer.

"Um." Louis scratches his head. "There's not much to tell really. He just moved in with my dad's girlfriend, his mum, a little under two weeks ago, so I don't really know him that well. He seems nice, I guess. We kind of had a falling out the first time we met, but I think that's past us now."

"I actually have a stepbrother too. He's really cool. We get along great, but I don't see him all that often anymore. I can totally relate to the falling out thing though." He chuckles. "We absolutely despised each other the first time we laid eyes on each other. It was like hate at first sight, but it ended up not being nearly as bad as I thought it would be. We actually had so much in common, it was scary. It was like we were the same person. But, now that I think about it, that's probably exactly why we didn't get along. I'm a bit headstrong sometimes."

Louis picks at a chip on his mug, smiling slightly. "It didn't take me very long to give in honestly. He's saved my arse more times than I can count."

"How so?"

"Where do I begin? He put this poor kid in the hospital for picking on me. Totally shattered his nose. And then he took a week suspension for it. He covered for me when I skipped footie practice. And he punched a guy for touching my bum. I'm going to have to start apologizing before things happen at this rate. He's going to get in serious trouble one day."

Jake raises his eyebrows and chuckles. "Remind me not to mess with your stepbrother."

"Don't worry. He doesn't bite that hard." He grins.

Louis coughs awkwardly, noticing that his tea is starting to cool under his hands. Louis, you daft. You didn't let him get a drink. He feels like slapping himself. "Do you want to get a drink? I'll wait for you."

"That'd be lovely, thanks," he sighs. "I've just gotten back from the worst finals of my life. I could use some caffeine." He slides out and makes a shooting motion at himself. "Word of advice. Don't go into law school. Worst fucking year of my life."

Louis chuckles. "Wasn't planning on it."

His heart is still rather jumpy when he walks towards the counter. It's not so much fear anymore because he's really nice, and he seems to be doing alright. But there's still that need to make sure this 'date' goes well overall. Even if they end up never seeing each other again, Louis doesn't want to think he managed to screw up his first date. It seems so much easier in movies. Actors are so much smoother than he is.

"You're surprisingly mature for your age." Jake comments a couple minutes after he comes back with a scalding black coffee that burns Louis' nasal cavity, pursing his lips as he takes a sip. "I was expecting someone more like your stepbrother. You know...rebellious teenager - filled with angst and hormones."

"I've been told I'm very mature, yes," he laughs. "My dad is actually worried that I'm growing up too fast. I think it's actually part of the reason he set this date up."

Jake lets the corners of his mouth turn up into a smirk. "This is a date?"

Louis bites his lip, scared. Was that the wrong thing to say? Does he not consider it a date? "Uh - w-well do you want it to be a date?"

He smiles. "Yeah, sure. Why not? I'm having fun. Let's call it a date then." Touching his hand softly, he forces his wide blue eyes up. "Does this mean I have to drive you home and kiss you?" He grins, just to show that he's teasing, but Louis flushes anyway.

"N-No, that's quite alright."

Jake retracts his hand slowly, leaning back to gaze at him with interest. "Adorable," he states. "Though that scruff is kind of hot. I'm kind of stuck between what I should call you."

"How about you just call me Louis?"

He laughs. "That works."

Louis can't help but blurt out, "For the record, you're really cute too. Just in case you didn't know. God, no - sorry. I'm sure you knew because I mean you're gorgeous, but...what were we talking about again?"

"Don't worry about it," he chuckles. He takes a sip, pauses to furrow his eyebrows, then shakes his head. He pops the lid off and adds some creamer, blowing some steam off. "How about we talk about you? I think you said earlier that you play football? Is that like American football or soccer? You kind of look like a David Beckham, so I'm going with that."

Time really does fly. He's not sure he truly understood the real meaning behind it until he looks up. Before he knows it, it's six o clock. Not only that, but his pink cheeks have simmered, his heart is thumping pretty steadily, and he feels almost comfortable. Now, Louis' definitely no expert when it comes to dating, but he thinks that must be a positive sign that he's doing something right.

Jake follows his gaze to the clock, eyes widening. He chokes back the rest of his lukewarm coffee and stands, rushing out an apology and grabbing his bag off the floor. "Shit. Sorry, I have to run. I didn't realize it was so late."

"It's fine."

"Would you like to do this again sometime?"

Louis thinks over the options in his head. Walk away like a wimp and miss out on a perfectly good guy. Or meet up again with a guy you actually feel comfortable around to be yourself and not feel like a victim. Hm. It's not really close. "Yeah, I think I would."

The college boy is easily a head taller than him, obvious when Louis stands up after him and has to look up. Jake roots in his pockets and hands over a small device, placing it in Louis' hand. His hand is warm when it brushes his. He quickly inputs his number, feeling pretty clever that he was able to figure out what he wants without asking, and saves it as 'Louis 😊' because he figures that's safe. Not too flashy. Jake does the same thing to his, assuming that it's just easier to have each other's contacts so they know it's not just some random number. And he suddenly laughs about one thumb stroke down.

"Who is 'The Dick'?"

Louis blushes, snatching it back quickly. "My stepbrother. You know what, just text me. I'll put you in later."

The thing that happens next is something that makes his heart stop altogether. Because this definitely did not just happen. The tall figure leans in, hand gripping his shoulder and brushes his rough lips against his cheek. Louis' face turns red, trying not to be creepy when he inhales his cologne. "Perfect, I'll text you."

*********

Louis walks the block back to his house with a little spring to his step and a giddy smile he has to bite back. His phone already feels a little heavier with having that one extra phone number in it. He can't believe the date went that well. In his head, he was convinced that he was going to blurt something so stupid that he'd think he's completely daft. And he doesn't want to admit that his dad was right because he's stubborn and he clearly didn't want to go in the first place, but he did enjoy it. So maybe he is ready to start dating. He doesn't think it'd hurt to try at this point. Especially knowing that he likes him already.

Fishing his house keys from his pocket, he opens the front door and drops his bag near the coat rack, making his way into the house. He can hear some soft clinking and clattering of pans and silverware in the kitchen, along with voices that he assumes are his mum and dad, but he doesn't hear Harry's deep voice. Walking through the living room, he immediately sees why. Harry is passed out on the couch, remote clutched in the hand that's being squished under his cheek and a blanket, Louis assumed was kicked off at some point, slipping off his knees.

Louis giggles a little and moves to slowly take the remote from him, but not before taking a picture of course. He gently pries his fingers off, letting his hand flop down to hit the couch. Harry doesn't stir. He changes the channel to something less revolting than hockey before stepping into the kitchen.

"Hey-o. I'm back."

His stepmum is making supper (some kind of lasagna, he thinks) when he enters, and they're chatting about work things that he couldn't care less about. So he just walks over to the fridge and roots around for some food. They ask him how the meeting went. And he's a little shocked that his step mum knows, but then again, not really. His dad probably tells her everything.

"Good," he states neutrally, trying to make himself seem indifferent. His dad sees right through it though, and he pokes his stomach, making him squeal quietly.

"It was great, admit it, Lou. You love him."

Louis blushes, rolling his eyes exasperatedly at his dad's behavior. He acts like the didn't just meet today for a couple hours. "He was cute," he grumbles.

"So what's the situation with this boy? You going to see him again?"

"Yeah, he gave me his number."

"I'm so proud of you. Come on, give your old pop a hug." His thick arms wrap around him and crush him into a hug, and he exaggerates choking.

"Help. Can't breathe."

"My baby's all grown up."

Louis frowns. "Dad, I told you not to turn this into a big deal."

Harry's mum smiles at him from her pan of, admittedly, delicious smelling pasta. "I'm proud of you too, Louis. Well done. I know this is new to you, so if you need any advice, just let me know. I'd be glad to help you." That comments is pleasantly surprising to Louis' ears, and he exhales in relief.

"Thanks."

"The lasagna's almost ready, if you'd like to sit down."

Louis sits at the table, closing his eyes. It's been a long day. He feels, quite honestly, burnt out, and he kind of wants to just crawl into his warm bed and go to sleep instead. He frowns when he feels his phone vibrate, pulling it out to see that Niall had texted him. The text asks why he wasn't at practice today along with like twenty sad emojis because Niall insists on always being too dramatic to function properly, and Louis just sighs, coming up with the same lame lie about how his knee is acting up again. It's much easier over the phone though, and Niall buys it.

He talks to Niall via text for a while, just casually putting his feet up on the chair next to him when Harry comes in, rubbing his eyes. The sleepy boy starts a little bit, reaching towards his chest and stares when he realizes that Louis' sitting there. "When did you get here?"

"About fifteen minutes ago."

Harry frowns, squinting at the clock. He probably notices that he should've been here two hours ago. "Where were you?"

"I went out for a little while, no big deal."

Scrolling through his phone, he stumbles upon the picture of Harry he took earlier. His face looks so peaceful. He reminds him of one of those pictures of cats that end up falling asleep in the weirdest positions. Chuckling, he sends it to Niall. 

#SleepGoals

"Oh."

Harry drags the chair next to him from the table, forcing Louis to drop his converse onto the tile, and Louis gives him a look. He smirks slightly and sits next to him, leaning across to look over his shoulder. His large hands are stuffed between his knees, and his bright eyes still look a little glazed from sleep. Louis' uncertain whether he should tell him that his hair looks like a bush. "Who are you texting?"

"Niall."

He hums, disinterested, but then his mouth falls open, and he reaches to scroll up on Louis' phone. "Where the fuck did you get that picture?"

Louis smirks, finding his reaction rather amusing. "I took it."

"That's horrible! Delete that!"

"Nope."

Harry ends up wrestling him for it, climbing out of his chair just so he can find a better grip. Louis yanks it towards himself, laughing. "Don't touch my phone, you twat." He stumbles a little closer, but doesn't give up his grip, instead moving to straddle him when he doesn't budge from his seated position, and Louis' breath hitches. His thighs are just as warm and solid as he remembers, pressing a strong weight on his lap. Harry puts his hand beside his shoulder on the woodwork, leaning close enough that he can taste his apple scent. His grip is much stronger from this position, and Harry knows he's got him outmatched. "Gimme."

His voice comes out a husky whisper, and Louis, embarrassingly, lets Harry rip it from him. Louis sees the inevitable two tap process that deletes it off his phone, and he sighs.

"I thought it was cute."

He drops Louis' phone back into his hand with a soft smirk. "You thought it was cute, or I was cute?"

Louis wants nothing more than to become that sugar in his tea right now. He wants to disappear by sinking into a puddle of nothingness in his chair. But, unfortunately, that doesn't happen, and Louis' forced to look away instead, face burning. "Yeah, your drool really made for a pretty picture."

Harry pouts slightly, sliding off of his lap. "I can't help what I do in my sleep."

Louis just chuckles, feeling more comfortable now that Harry's not breathing in his face. His stepbrother plops back down in his seat with a groan, placing his socked feet where he just was - aka, in Louis' lap - and crosses them at the ankles. Louis' nose crinkles, but he tries to ignore it. At least they're close enough to feel comfortable doing things like this. It makes his lips twitch slightly on their own accord because he finally has a friend other than Niall. Even if it's just his stepbrother, it's still somebody. Sometimes they'll mess with each other, but it's never more than an attempt to provoke them good-naturedly. Louis finally starts to feel at ease in his own house again, a wave of content-ness rolling over him because this is how it should be. And Harry seems to feel the same way, smiling at him before resting his head back against the chair and resting his eyes again.

Harry's mum sets up the table around them, smacking Harry upside the head when she passes so that he jolts back awake. "Put your feet down, Haz. We're at the dinner table." Haz. He forgot about that.

It takes him a while - after he's already finished stuffing in the last bite of his food - to remember that it's Thursday, and he shoots up from his seat, startling everyone around the table and knocking his knee into the side. Thankfully, it's his good knee. The glasses rattle and wobble, nearly falling over, and he hisses in pain. "Oh, shi-shoot." He was able to catch himself before he cursed in front of his dad. "We have finals tomorrow! I need to study!" In all this chaos, he totally neglected his responsibilities.

He darts to the front door, snatching his bag off the floor. It's heavy and he struggles to pick it up in his arms, but he manages. It's already almost eight o clock. Eyes widening, he rushes upstairs, bag clutched to his chest.

From the stairs, he can feel their eyes watching him fumble around, and he hears one comment from his stepmum that makes him snort. "Why can't you be that enthusiastic about school, Harry?" He can practically see the look on his face when she asks that. But Louis' not offended. He knows he's a little obsessed.

Louis makes it to about one in the morning before he totally starts drifting. His eyelids feel like someone taped bricks of lead to them, and he keeps sliding down so that his hand is pressing against his temple instead of his chin, and his highlighter leaves a nice, thick line across the page when his head drops completely onto the lined paper. It happens a couple of times, and Louis rubs his eyes, turns on the tv, and paces - all in an attempt to stay awake just a little longer. The last time he passes out must've been for a while though as a knock at his bedroom door starts him from his sleep. And when he lifts his head, there's a piece of paper stuck to his cheek.

"What?"

"Louis, sweetheart." His step mum's voice sounds through his door, a little husky from sleep and he can just picture her on the other side in her robe with small eyes and frizzy hair. "It's almost one in the morning. Why are you still up?"

He slides off his bed and opens the door, feeling pretty guilty about the zombie look in her eyes. Something tells him that his light was what woke her up and dragged her out of bed. She smiles slightly, covering her mouth. Louis wonders why she's looking at him like that until she reaches out gently and peels the paper off his cheek, handing it back to him. He blushes. "Sorry. I was just finishing some last minute notes," He mumbles quietly. "I'm almost done."

"No, Louis you should go to sleep. You won't function well if you don't get some rest. I think you're hindering yourself more by studying than if you just went to bed."

She appears genuinely concerned, touching his shoulder lightly, and he sighs. "Yeah, okay."

Smiling, she takes the paper back from him, wanders into his room, sets it on his notebook and textbook, and then takes that away as well. He gapes. "You don't trust me?"

"Not at all. Now, goodnight, Louis."

Louis chuckles in disbelief when she shuts the door quietly behind her. Maybe he kind of really does like his new step mum.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Football and car rides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saw my grandma in Minnesota today. It’s been almost two years since I’ve seen her because of the pandemic…  
> I hope you all are starting to break out of this pandemic too and being able to visit your loved ones

Niall meets him after class on Friday, literally shoving people out of the way so that he can envelop him in a bone-crushing grip. He even twirls him around a little in the process, looking as if he's close to a breakdown. "Oh, thank God!" he screeches over Louis' shoulder into the crowded hallway as people swarm to get out the doors. "We're free! We've been set free! Forever free! I'm never going back to school again! Mark this day in your calendars. I'm going to make this a national holiday."

Louis chuckles, amused. "I'm glad you're so excited."

Calming himself, he loosens his grip around Louis' waist so that he slides back down to his feet. Then he laughs and fixes his hair, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "How'd finals go, nerd? Get straight A's again?"

"Yeah, I think I did well. How about you?"

"Honestly? I think my brain checked out forever and took a bus to France. Everything up here -" Niall motions vaguely to his head. "Is completely gone. Speaking of which, we must meet at my house tonight. I'm going to have a bonfire and ritually throw all my schoolwork into it. Want to join me? It'll be fun."

Louis frowns. "I can't. I'm going to Manchester tonight. Right after the game."

"When are you getting back?"

"I'm not sure. I think in, like, a week."

"We'll just do it then, then. Text me as soon as you get back. I'm aching to set my biology notes on fire."

"Will there be food?"

"Obviously."

"I'm in," Louis laughs, stuffing the last of his belongings into his backpack so that his locker is empty and clean. Well, not clean. There's a lot of dust and small pieces of notebook paper tossed about, but that's not his job. Then he closes it and follows Niall as they make their way down the hallway to the set of double doors. They had already packed all their equipment the night before, so they just grab the duffle bag inside their small lockers in the locker room and climb aboard the large bus that's waiting for them in the parking lot. Harry's locker was untouched when he passed it inside earlier, but Louis just shrugs. He'll be here. Knowing Harry, there's no way he'd miss the semifinals.

It's a fancier bus than they usually get - with a logo on the side and a sleek design. Looks like the school could finally afford some luxury and decided to spend it on postseason transportation than, say, food. How classy.

When he gets inside though, his eyes go wide. The seats are made of some kind of real upholstery - soft to the touch, and there are screens attached to the back of the headrests. Not to mention, all the leg space there is between the rows of seats. It's mind boggling. And suddenly he's not complaining so much about the slop they serve for lunch. Because this is fucking awesome. The drive up to London is going to fly with all this comfort. He plops down at the window seat in the back, Niall sitting down next to him.

"Shit, this bus is awesome."

Louis couldn't agree more, climbing up onto his knees on the seat so that he can look out the window at the parking lot below. They're easily ten feet off the ground, and everyone out of it looks tiny in comparison. He settles back down in his seat, stuffing his bag by his feet and relaxing into it. It's so nice, his eyelids actually droop down, and he's so, so tired from staying up so late last night that his head can't help but lull a little.

Niall slaps him lightly. "Whoa, mate. You look like you're going to pass out. Why are you so tired? Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Like four hours." Louis shifts to sit up, rubbing his eyes to try and clear the fog that's threatening to take over.

"Why would you do that to yourself? We have a very important game today! Coach is going to murder you. You know how serious he is about taking care of your body."

"Needed to cram some stuff into my brain. I had a total brain fart. I completely forgot we had finals today. I had to stay up till, like, one in the morning just to highlight my notes. And I didn't even finish. My stepmum finally had to take away all my things and make me go to sleep."

Niall looks at him funny. "School is like all you ever think about. How'd you forget?"

Louis' eyes sparkle. He makes sure to lean in extra close, just for that added dramatic flare, and waits for Niall to raise his eyebrows. It also keeps his other teammates from hearing their conversation - which he has absolutely no intention of telling them. Because that could end badly. He doesn't think anything will happen after last week but better safe than sorry. "I went on a date last night."

"Shut up," Niall mumbles. He looks utterly flabbergasted, lips slowly curling into a large grin. "With who? Do I know them? Is it a guy? Wait - of course, it's a guy. Do you have a picture? Do they have social media so I can stalk them? Because I need something."

"I don't know. Some college guy. He's, like, the son of this guy my dad works with or something."

"Give me the details!"

"He's really nice, and he's really hot...and he said he'd like to meet me again sometime."

"Damn, Louis' got game!" He hoots, causing a few heads to turn. He holds his hand up, waiting for Louis to reach up and smack it, but Louis' too busy covering his face.

"You're really embarrassing, you know that?"

Niall's grin deepens. "Who would I be if I wasn't embarrassing?"

The doors to the bus just start to close with a hiss when he sees his dad's car swing into the lot, and Harry scrambles to run towards the bus, a bag flopping by his side. Apparently he didn't need to stop at his locker. He appears frazzled when he gets on, curls a little messed up and breathing heavy, and the bus goes silent. Some still seem stunned or intimidated after the fight, but he still easily finds a spot next to Trevor on the opposite end of the bus. And Connor - oh, god, Louis didn't even know he was back - glares at his stepbrother from a couple of seats in front of him. 

Harry turns in his seat once he's sat and sweeps the faces as if looking for someone. His fingers tighten on the bag in his lap when he locks eyes with Louis' bully, bristling. Louis shrinks in his seat, pulling out his phone instead because he knows Harry's looking for him. There are green eyes on him when he glances up, but they disappear just as quickly.

Niall turns in his seat when the noise slowly starts to pick back up, catching his gaze. "What did Harry say?"

"About what?"

"Your date. What'd he say?"

"I didn't tell him."

"What? Why not?" Niall raises his eyebrows.

"It's not any of his business. It doesn't affect his life. He doesn't need to know. Nor would he care, if I told him."

Niall just shakes his head, sighing. Louis wonders if he's still on that whole jealous thing still. Because that was so long ago, and he definitely wasn't jealous - Louis knows that now. "Let me see him."

"I don't have a picture, but I could try looking him up on Facebook?"

"Do it."

Louis feels like a total creep - searching for him and looking through his photos and posts. But he quickly finds a nice picture of him at what looks like some type of graduation event and shows him. "That's him."

Niall's eyes widen. "Hot damn!"

Half the bus turns to look at them, including Harry, and his face flushes. Louis puts a finger to his lips and shushes him. Which ends up with Niall just licking his finger and Louis pulling away in disgust. But he got him to quiet, at least.

"Be quiet. Jesus. You're going to wake all of Holmes Chapel."

"You went on a date with that? Him?"

"Yes, Niall."

"I think I spot your future husband. Or, wait . . . maybe mine."

Laughing, he pushes him away. Sometimes he forgets that Niall's bisexual. It's kind of amusing, yet disappointing at the same time because Niall was smart enough to not out himself at school. "Shut up. He's not yours."

Niall winks. "Right because he's yours."

Louis blushes. "Well, not mine, per say. I've only met him once. But I think there should be something in the bro code that talks about moving in on someone their best mate is seeing. Even if it's just a date."

"Touché. But I'm totally stealing him from you if you two break up."

"You said that about Harry too."

"I'm a shipper of both. And, mate, your stepbrother is freaking gorgeous. Of course I'd tap that. Which reminds me . . . is he available now that you're taken or -"

"Don't you fucking dare, Horan." Louis doesn't even bother to elaborate his threat, knowing full well that Niall wouldn't actually do it. Especially if Louis is serious about it. He puts his phone away. "And what the fuck is a shipper? Are you going on a cruise?"

Niall just starts cackling, face turning red, and he really doesn't understand why that's so funny. He takes a breath before going again, and his laugh only gets louder. Oh dear lord, please make it stop. He's so embarrassing. His best mate wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. "No, Lou. A ship is like a couple that you want to see get together. No one's getting on a fucking ship."

Louis pouts. "Oh." He crosses his arms over his chest, slightly offended. "You don't have to laugh at me."

"Yes, I do. You're such a social media newbie, it's cute."

"I have better things to do with my time than read your gay porn, thank you."

Niall snorts. "I doubt it."

Scrolling through his phone, he suddenly turns it over and opens an app. Louis leans over his shoulder and watches him work, copying and pasting pictures of both Louis and Jake. Then he clicks a button and the faces merge and look as if they're placed on a baby's body. He giggles.

"What the hell is that?"

"Look! I ship it hardcore. That's fucking adorable."

"How the fuck did you even do that?"

"It's an app. You just put the parents' faces in, and it like mashes them together and slaps it on a baby's body. It's great. Kind of like that face swap thing on Snapchat. It shows you what your future children will look like."

"You're mental," Louis smiles.

"Don't tell me you don't want this." Niall shoves the phone in his face, and he laughs. "I swear to God, Louis. If you have this baby, I'm going to kidnap it and raise it as my own."

"I worry about you sometimes." 

It's a long bus ride to London for semifinals, and his giddiness shows on his face when they get closer. They're just on the edge of the city, restaurants and small, wedged in shops everywhere he can look. And a couple minutes later, they're pulling up to a large stadium, a couple other buses already parked on the other side. He can't believe they are actually going to be in the big city playing football. This is like his best dream.

Louis throws his arms out to the side when they load off the bus at last and stops to breathe in heavily. He even gives the side of the bus a hug just for the hell of it. "I have come home."

"Yeah, okay, weirdo. Come on."

They follow the group into the stadium, and, damn, it's fucking huge. It looks as if it could hold tens of thousands, easily. Which implies that they're probably playing in a football specific stadium - maybe even a professional one - and he feels like he's going to cry. It's so beautiful.

"Who are we playing?" Niall asks, eyes lighting up as he sees some blue uniforms - most likely their opponents - waddle into a side door.

"Doncaster. I think."

"Sweet."

The team quickly changes into their game jerseys, Louis grateful he actually remembered to wash out the grass stains so it's crisp and fresh. It was getting pretty gross. Then, together, they run out onto the field and dump their shit by the sideline bench, bouncing up and down excitedly so that it's nearly impossible to calm them down. Louis feels like he's going to explode. The other team is already out and warming up when they get out there, and they look like five times older than them. Ugh. He hates these games. This is going to be rough.

Coach blows his whistle - a couple of times before he actually gets all of their attention. "Get in your warm-up lines. We have twenty minutes before kick off so no dilly dallying."

*********

In the 63rd minute, Harry scores the only goal of the game. It's kind of really strange because Harry's supposed to be defending. But he, technically, did win the game for them...And it was rather impressive. His coach always said that if you are open, you should just keep taking it up the field.

And that's exactly what he did. He made fluid moves around every single opponent. He even did a rainbow when he got trapped along the sideline, and Louis didn't miss the wink he sent him after the ball hit the back of the net. Cheeky bastard.

*********

At the end of it all, they shake hands with the other team respectfully and give the referees fist bumps. Even in defeat, they were gracious about it, patting backs and exchanging weary smiles. Their coach hurries to herd them all in a circle, only having small, picky comments about their performance. He seems happy overall, especially since they actually won, and Louis can see the spark that appears in Harry's eyes when their coach praised him for his goal. He wonders what it'd feel like to get that kind of feedback from an idol. It's probably fucking amazing.

He really doesn't have much to say. Just that they played really well. Not to eat too many carbs and get plenty of sleep these next couple of days. That they still have practice everyday, but Louis doesn't have to worry about that. He's going on vacation to Manchester this weekend - which he's still fucking pumped about, by the way. He'll have to look at that workout plan his coach apparently sent his dad, but he'll figure it out. Maybe there are trails he can run by the cabin or something.

By the time he gets home, he's practically dead on his feet. He wishes he could just pass out on his bed instead of packing, but he also kind of smells, so the shower ends up overruling the vote, and he cleans up, taking a brief shower. He comes out, smelling of mango shampoo, and sets out his suitcase on the bed. He more stuffs everything in than actually folds it but whatever. It's not like he was going to do it anyway, if he's being honest.

Louis packs all the necessities - his toothbrush, toothpaste, the works. It barely all fits, but once he squishes it down it allows space for a couple more things. He throws in an extra pair of underwear then pauses, frowning when he tries to think of what else he might need. This is always the worst part for him. Trying to think of what he's missing. But this time it comes right away to him, and he bounds to the closet. He needs a jacket. At first, he just goes for the simple black hoodie, but then the sleeve of an obviously much larger sweatshirt falls from the back of his closet, and he tugs that out instead, setting the hoodie down. It's clear whose it is when it falls into his arms, engulfing his frame, and he smiles slightly, hoping Harry can't actually see him through the door when he throws that in too and zips it shut.

He sighs when he finishes, pausing to just sit on his bed. He can't believe he's finally done with school. It feels good to know he has all those tests out of the way, but he's scared too. The next step is uni. Jesus. That's terrifying. He'll finally be on his own. His dad won't be there. Harry and his mum won't be there. It'll just be him and some stranger living together. He nearly shudders at the thought. He could barely handle Harry, and he's really just a big softie - if you ask Louis. Harry tries to hide it, but he can see. Especially around his mum. It's quite adorable actually.

Smiling, he drags his suitcase down the stairs, nearly running into Harry in the process. "Whoa, careful." Harry looks at him funny, leaning against the handle of his suitcase in the doorway of his room with a smirk.

"That suitcase is, like, as big as you are."

Louis huffs. "Is not. I've got it." But - of course - just as he says that, he clips the edge of it on the edge of his doorway, and he squeaks, nearly sending himself flying. Before he can though, a solid arm just barely bars his body. His suitcase does end up on the floor, but he, himself, is being propped up by Harry's forearm, wide eyes looking up into his smug ones. It's then that he notices their position - like something out of movie where Harry catches him just above the small of his back. "Smooth," he comments.

Harry helps steady him, large hand still splayed across his spine, and Louis feels his face flush a little. It feels like a late rush of adrenaline, the physical contact suddenly burning into his skin and heart stuttering. Then it's gone, and Harry hauls his suitcase off the floor. "Maybe I should carry this."

"Good call."

Louis grabs Harry's smaller one and follows him out to the car. It's pitch black outside, making him squint and yawn repeatedly. He fumbles into Harry's back a couple of times and stepped on his heels once, but he just looks at him.

"Do you have a concussion or something?"

"No, sorry. M'just tired."

Harry hands Louis' suitcase to his dad then takes his from Louis' hands. "Get in the car. I got this."

"Famous last words."

Smiling, Harry shakes his head, but Louis hands it over and opens the backseat of the car, crawling over the upholstery and stretching over the entire bench. He closes his eyes, peaceful until the door by his head jerks, and he jumps. Looking up, he sees Harry glance at him exasperatedly. Louis groans, sitting up so he can buckle himself in and let Harry sit down.

Once they're all in, they're off. They don't waste any time getting onto the highway because they still have a couple hour drive ahead of them. His parents chirpily start a conversation in the front, but Louis quickly finds himself drifting into his thoughts, half asleep and eyes trained out the window. He breaks out of it after a while of silence and glances over at Harry. His stepbrother's fast asleep against the glass of the window, lips parted. Louis rubs his own eyes with his sleeves. He looks gentler in his sleep - more vulnerable. 

Suddenly, Harry shifts. "I can feel you staring." Louis blushes slightly, though it's too dark to actually see much. And he doesn't open his eyes to look, but he still smirks. As if he knows.

Louis grabs his pillow from the back and settles down as comfortably as he can with a seatbelt. He squirms around for a while, trying to get in the right position. But everything he tries, there's always something. The seatbelt is rubbing his neck, or his cheek burns when he rests it there, and Harry calls him out on it.

"Are you quite done?" Louis thinks he sounds exasperated, but when he looks, his facial muscles are lax, eyes sparkling in the dim lighting like he's teasing. His voice comes out in a whisper for some reason. As if he's afraid that if he makes a sound, something will happen, even though their parents are talking and there's a soft hum of the radio.

"No," he whines. "This is so bloody uncomfortable. I hate sleeping in the car."

Harry moves to the middle seat and takes his pillow from him, placing it on his own shoulder. Louis frowns. "What are you doing?" 

"It's more comfortable this way." 

Louis bites his lip. He thinks he knows what he's offering, but he shifts cautiously. When he doesn't say anything, Louis lays his head across his shoulder, on top of the pillow. And he's right. It's so much more comfy. Harry's side is pressed against his when he settles and Louis' hair stands on end, but it just makes him scoot closer, masking his shivers. Harry falls asleep soon after, head lulling so his cheek lands in his hair.

The pillow falls onto the floor after a few minutes, and Louis tenses when he feels his warm shoulder on his cheek. But Harry doesn't budge, definitely passed out at this point. So he leaves it on the floor.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry divulges some of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s the cutest. I love the character I made for him  
> Louis is such an oblivious fuck, but to be honest, I would be just as

Louis hears a seatbelt unbuckle as soon as the car rolls to a stop, and the mistakable sound of a door opening. The shoulder tenses under his cheek and Harry squirms, letting out an odd noise that tells him he's stretching, yawning, or both. He slides out, clicking the door open and taking his shoulder with him - much to his disappointment, and Louis protests quietly. It's not fair. He was so warm. Noticing he's not coming back, he just kind of falls against the seat, face first. 

Harry giggles. Then he reaches down and unbuckles Louis, shaking his shoulder gently. "Louis, we're here." The sleepy boy ignores him, mumbling and curls further into a ball.

There's a sigh above him then he hears the trunk and suitcases on wheels on the cobblestone outside.

"Harry, wake Louis up please. We have to get inside."

"I tried. He refused to get up."

"Well, figure something out. We have to check in before 11:00."

"Louis..." Harry taps his forehead, and Louis just lets his nose crinkle. "I'll buy you a candy bar if you help me out here." Nothing. Clearly he does not know the ways of getting him out of bed yet. "You know what -"

Harry literally climbs in and drags him out. He still pretends to be asleep, letting his body slump onto the pavement. "Aw," he whines, frustrated. He gives his lifeless arm a few tugs. "Louis, you'll have to stand to get inside." He pauses to gauge a reaction but gets none. "For God's sake..."

He resorts to picking him up bridal style, Louis curling into the pocket of his chest. "Bastard. I know you're awake." Louis just smiles slightly, nudging his chest with his nose and not so discreetly sniffing him. He always smells so good.

Together, they come up upon the cabin, and Louis dares to open his eye a peek to look. They widen in disbelief though when he looks up. It's bloody huge. A fucking mansion made of of logs. This cabin is a lot more lavish than he pictured it'd be. To be honest, he was expecting like a Lincoln log house out in the middle of nowhere with a falling down roof. But it's the complete opposite. It's definitely a lot nicer than their house. There are lights decorating nearly every side, lighting up against the night sky and setting the stars ablaze. Louis lifts his head a little higher to look. "Holy shit."

Harry, noticing the movement, drops him. And he lands gracefully, not so gracefully on his bum."Ow."

"Oops. I guess you're awake now." 

Louis rubs his bum and follows, gaping. Even the lobby is extravagant in comparison, dwarfing his entire living space, and they have to walk a bit before they actually find their parents near the front counter. Apparently, it's more of a lodge than a cabin, but that's okay too. By all means.

"You will have room 32. It's on the second floor, to the left when you exit the elevators."

Louis' dad gives him the extra key, and Harry wiggles his eyebrows at him. "What are you going on about now?"

Harry grabs his wrist calmly, leading him away from their parents with their suitcases. They give them a strange look, but Louis just shrugs. He doesn't know what the fuck Harry is doing. He never really knows what he's doing, if he's being honest. "Let's go explore. I want to see if they have a pool."

"And you had to drag me along because...?" 

"You have a room key."

"Oh."

They wander around for a bit, Louis quite disappointed when Harry let go of his wrist quickly into the tour. He likes the way his hand dwarfs his and makes his skin tingle. Even though they're just supposed to be brothers, it still feels nice. There's a high-quality gym that's fucking huge with every kind of equipment you could think of (Louis jots that down mentally for possible exercise this week), a bar (which Harry quite happily pointed out and Louis rolled his eyes at - because come on - no one here is going to believe he's legal), a hotel store, a five-star restaurant, and, of course, a kick ass pool. It seems kind of ironic because they're supposed to be becoming one with nature on this trip but everything here makes you want to stay inside and get fat.

There's even a rack of brochures and papers that they stop at that have all sorts of local attractions. "Ooh, Harry. Look. They have horse back riding!" Harry smirks, flipping through some kind of teen magazine, and Louis huffs, snatching it from him. He puts it back on the rack and glares. "We're supposed to be looking for stuff to do, Harry. Not read pop garbage."

"I bet you can't even get on a horse without help, Shorty." Louis pouts but blushes because it's probably true. Harry clicks his tongue and leans in close to his ear, barring his voice from the old lady that had been judging them hardcore from the minute they stopped here. He's pretty sure this place is meant to be made more for rich people, or retired rich, old people. "Don't worry though. You can always ride me. Free of charge."

"You mean ride with you?"

"That's what I said." And, okay, no. That's not what he said. Louis pushes him away with a roll of his eyes.

"Harry, come on. Take this seriously."

"I am being serious," he states, feigning offense. "Oh, look. They have a wine museum."

Louis looks at him exasperatedly. "A wine museum? That sounds boring as fuck. Even to me. And, trust me when I say that whatever you think you're going to get from there - samples or whatever, you're definitely not going to get."

"Clearly you don't know how to live." 

Harry starts to wander away, stuffing the brochure back onto the shelf and heading for the station of what looks like lemon water by the front desk. They even have lemon water. How fancy. Louis sighs in defeat, placing the horse riding flier back, and Harry looks back over his shoulder at him, halting so that Louis passes him when he follows him. Why is he looking at him like that? "What?"

"Why'd you put it back?"

"I don't know. You didn't seem thrilled about the idea, so I assumed you didn't want to go. And Niall thinks it's childish, so I don't know. I put it back." Louis shuffles his feet awkwardly and looks at them.

Harry's converse dance out of his field of vision, and when he finally looks up again, his stepbrother is there, thrusting it into his hand. "Ask mum and dad. I'd love to go." His feet click silently forward again, moving with a gracious speed that he wishes he possessed. Eyes widening in excitement, he half-jogs, half-hobbles up to join him by his side.

"You would?" Louis beams.

"Yeah, I love cows."

"Horses."

"Horses. Definitely love those. And riding." Louis just smiles.

They step into the elevator together on the way up to the room, and Louis immediately questions whether they should've taken the stairs. Because it's suddenly awkward, and Harry shoots him a sideways smirk. Louis looks up at the ceiling instead.

"Do you like animals?"

"I love animals."

"But not people?"

Louis snorts softly. "People are scarier. They judge you and make you feel bad about yourself. Animals don't. They don't know the difference between someone who is gay and someone who isn't. It's the beautiful thing about not being so intelligent all the time." Harry frowns.

The elevator doors ding open not even a second later, and Louis rushes out. He quickly finds room 32 and digs the key into the lock, feeling Harry's presence approach him from behind. "We're back!" He calls, dropping the key onto a side-table and looking around. Kicking his shoes off, he sees a giant screen television, a large couch, a space beside the fireplace that's covered with a fluffy rug and that Louis will definitely be checking out later, a hallway to the left that most likely leads to the bedrooms, and a vast kitchen, with everything chrome and oak in color. 

"Room porn," Harry comments, and Louis can only agree.

Not seeing his parents in the living room or kitchen, he heads down the hallway, Harry licking at his heels. Louis peels off at the first doorway, hearing the soft murmur of his dad's voice, and he's not at all surprised to see his dad already unpacked, drawers open and lights on. He spots his suitcase on the floor by the bed as well. "Are we rooming together?"

"Yeah, I didn't want to force Harry and you to sleep together without asking. So I figured it'd be easier this way."

His dad should sleep with his girlfriend while they're here. This is vacation. "No, dad. You should sleep with Anne. I can sleep with Harry. It's fine."

"Are you sure, Lou?"

"Yes, dad. I'm a big boy. I can handle it."

His dad smiles, and Louis grabs his suitcase, wheeling it to the next room. He knocks softly on the closed door, and Anne lets him in so that he walks past her and see Harry staring at him from where he's laying across the entire bed. Maybe this will be harder than he thought. "Hey, Louis. What can I help you with?"

Louis turns to Harry's mum, twisting the handle of his suitcase uncomfortably. "Um, my dad wanted you to sleep in his room. With him...And I said I could sleep with Harry...in here."

"Oh, wonderful!" She claps her hands and moves to kiss Louis on the cheek. He blushes a little, but she doesn't notice, grabbing her mostly still made case and going to the next room. "Thanks, Louis. This means a lot."

Once she's gone, it's quiet again, and Louis looks up at Harry's curious eyes shyly.

"You realized you just encouraged them to have sex, right?"

Louis chokes a little. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, come on. One week vacation. In the same bed as each other. Away from us. They're going to do it at least once." Louis' neck heats because, ew. He doesn't want to think about old people sex. Especially with his dad.

"TMI."

Harry shrugs. "Well."

Louis sets his suitcase on the floor, dropping to sit cross-cross applesauce on the floor as he unzips it. He pays no mind to the burning eyes above him - watching his every move, shoving everything away quickly until he gets to one item that he was going to hang in the closet but debates whether that's a good idea or not now. Biting his lip, he quickly darts his eyes up and back, pulling out Harry's sweatshirt and folding it so he can place it in the closet. He doesn't comment on the obvious font on the back, but he's smirking when he looks at the bed again.

"You want to go swimming?" He suddenly asks, pulling Louis out of his thoughts and rolling over on his bed to yank a pair of trunks from his suitcase. "The pool doesn't close till 11:30."

Louis gives him a confused look. They already ran, like, five miles before this. "Aren't you tired yet?"

"Nope."

Shrugging, Louis grabs his too. As long as he keeps his hair out of the water and doesn't have to take another shower, he doesn't mind. "M'kay. But if I drown, you better save me." He stands and goes to the bathroom to change, shooting Harry a look to keep his pants on till he leaves the room.

*********

Louis spends a majority of the time sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in. It's nice because he can swing his legs and feel the water run though his toes, but he doesn't have to actually get wet. And, lest we forget the best part: watching Harry prance around in water with dripping curls and glistening muscles. He took off his glasses earlier so they wouldn't get wet, and before he kind of cursed being able to see so well, but now he's really starting to like it. His vision is a little fuzzy but not too bad. Enough to tell that Harry was definitely born to be shirtless.

Before he had taken a dip into the pool, Louis had managed to get a glimpse of these extra nipples he speaks of, and they're so cute. He had almost mistaken them for moles. "Ah, there they are." Louis had poked the nubs and gave him a lopsided grin.

Harry, not having had expected the assault, covered them with a frown. "Don't poke them."

And as interesting as they are, they aren't as intriguing as his naked torso in its entirety. The way he so gracefully twists to swim laps around the pool, slapping Louis on the thigh every time he passes as if it's his mile marker. He wants to lick over every single tattoo on that golden skin, and this time he doesn't even try to deny it. Because he's starting to think tattoos might be a turn on.

Harry swims up to him when he's off in his own world, staring at the waves rolling against the side of the pool and tickles the bottom of his feet, making him squeal and nearly topple into the water. "Shit, Harry. Don't do that. You scared the fudge out of me."

Chuckling, he floats between Louis' knees, resting his elbows on his thighs as he looks up at him. His dark, wet hair is already starting to bounce back to their original shape around his forehead and neck, curling at the ends. And his dark eyelashes flutter around his sea foam eyes. "Are you ticklish?"

"Don't even think about it," Louis growls, dead serious.

"Oh, I'm thinking about it."

"I swear to God, if you touch my stomach -"

"You'll what?" He challenges with a smirk, swimming up closer so that he can smell the chlorine coming off of him. "You'll poke my extra nipples?" Well, there's an idea. "You'll splash me with water?" What the hell is he doing? He's feeding all the information to him. "You'll...lose in a tickle fight." Wait, what?

His fingers suddenly reach forward to dance across his stomach and he spasms, rolling across the pool floor like a fucking fish. Thank the lord no one else was there to see that. "Dear God, make it stop!"

Harry glides back in the water on his back, laughing loudly. "Oh my god! Your face. You looked like you were in pain but you couldn't stop laughing!"

"That's because I couldn't, you arse!" He kicks some water at him, splashing him square in the face, but Harry just closes his eyes against the spray, still cackling. His dimples are on full view, cratering his cheeks and crinkling his eyes, and, damn, Louis doesn't think he's ever looked more attractive. His eyes are so fucking gorgeous. He doesn't understand how they can just switch between green and blue, like iridescent scales. He's so bloody jealous.

Harry's smile suddenly fades and he wades back, picking up Louis' arm by his wrist and turning it over. Louis' confused at first before he sees what he's looking at, a discolored patch of skin across his wrist. His eyes dart across the scar, thumb slowly moving over the skin. "What's this from?" Goosebumps break out on his skin at the touch, and he quickly yanks it back.

Biting his lip, Louis looks at him bashfully. "I fell through a window."

Harry raises an eyebrow and giggles. A boy like Harry should not be allowed to giggle. It should be illegal with how oddly adorable it is. "Fell through a window? How on Earth did you manage to do that?"

"I was kind of goofing around with my friend at my piano lesson, and...I slipped, tried to put my hand up on the glass to catch myself - broke the entire window. Shattered it completely. I had a giant piece of glass in my wrist, and my teacher had to drive me to the hospital. Let's just say I had to get a few stitches."

"How old were you?"

"Like eleven, twelve. I don't remember."

"And you had a friend? Like other than Niall?"

Louis frowns, not liking the way this is sending his mind whirling back with all the memories. "Yeah, I, um, used to be popular. Believe it or not. I could make friends with anyone."

Harry tilts his eyebrows. "What changed?"

"I came out."

"Oh."

Sighing, Louis leans back to rest his hands behind him. "Don't start pitying me. I don't want people to walk on eggshells around me."

"I wasn't pitying you."

"Good."

Harry stares at him for a while after that, just linking his fingers together under his chin and floating between his legs. There's no pity though, which he appreciates. Maybe just curiosity - and understanding? He doesn't know. After a while of silence, he sees Harry wet his lips out of the corner of his eye, and he shifts in the water, creating wakes. "Let me tell you a story."

"A story? We're not in kindergarten."

"A real story," Harry amends. "One I think you'll relate to."

Louis looks up from his fingers. He supposes it couldn't hurt to hear whatever he has to say. It can't be less interesting than staring at nothing, and he'll get to listen to his slow, hypnotic voice while he does. So that's a bonus. "Okay."

Drifting around to Louis' right side, he grabs the edge of the pool and hauls himself onto the ledge. His biceps bulge, drawing attention to the black drawings there, but Louis quickly looks back up at his face. Water drips everywhere and he gets sprayed a little when Harry shakes his head like a dog. Louis wishes he looked that good coming out of a pool. It feels a little wrong to have these thoughts about another boy now when it's the reason his whole life has been a depressing let down and he's just been reminded of the fact. Yet he's still doing it.

"M'kay, so..." He pauses to rake some wet hair out of his face, red, plump lips forming the words slowly as he thinks. "There was a boy - a really small, lanky boy with long arms and long legs. He wasn't much in the way of coordination. In fact, many people said that when his mum threw him onto the football pitch, he'd resemble a flailing giraffe. He would always fall in a tangle of limbs on the ground or stop to fix a flower that got crushed." Harry smiles a little, as if humbled by his own story, and Louis can't help but be captivated. "Many people made fun of him for it. The people he thought of as friends still thought he was odd. Or that his hair was too strange. But for the longest time, he was completely oblivious. He thought his friends were the greatest mates any boy could ever have even though he didn't understand why they made fun of him sometimes." The smile fades off his face now, hands clenching in his lap. "And he kept thinking that way until about nineth grade when he realized why they were making fun of him. While they were joking about the hottest girls in school and boobs, he couldn't help but be more interested in the boy in his Maths class. Girls were pretty to him. He always thought so, but he wanted to be friends with that boy more than anything in the entire world. He didn't understand why he felt this way, but he had to. And his friends quickly caught on, instead turning their jokes at him. They started making jokes about his parts instead of girls, and he would just bite his lip and look down, confused as to why he liked it when he knew his friends liked girls. It wasn't an overall epiphany when he understood. It wasn't like he just woke up one morning and knew. That boy in his maths made him realize it all by himself. The things he wanted to do - like kiss him, hold his hand...love him, they weren't normal, and he knew that. He had wished he was normal. He wanted to be normal like his friends. But he wasn't. And he was kind of okay with that. It seemed everyone else seemed to know to, making gay jokes straight to his face and girls giggling behind his back. It was never really a problem because he only cared about the opinion of one person. It's kind of funny because you expect him to make fun of him like everyone else, but he was actually the only person who smiled at him in the halls anymore, and it just captivated him more. He wanted this boy. He didn't think he had a chance because this boy was cute. He was a senior. Somehow, that didn't stop him though, and he just went straight for the kill. He caught him in the hallway and kissed him. A scared, gay sophomore just kisses someone out of nowhere, and the best thing was...he kissed back. And, God, it was the best thing he's ever done, but at the same time the worst. He dated that boy for a year before he finally broke it off with him, no longer feeling the chemistry with him. And then. Then..." He tilts his head to look at him. "Then his mum met a quirky guy on the train." 

Louis' breath hitches, and Harry just looks back down.

"He knew his mum was staring at him. He knew she wanted to meet him but was too scared. So he helped her. He walked over to the man and said, 'Hey, my mum really likes you. She doesn't think she does. She's very cautious about meeting people again, but I know she wants to meet you. You should go talk to her.' And so the man did. He finally watched his mum laugh at the hands of another man for the first time in years, and he smiled. Six months later, he's pulling up into the driveway of some stranger's home with nothing more than a suitcase and a few precious possessions with no idea what to expect when he walks through that door. But that's when he decided that he was going to change. He's going to be the person his friends tried to make him to be 'cool enough' to hang with them. He became the asshole he knew he never was and knew he never would be. Soon enough, he realized that he doesn't have to be that. He's happy being himself, and someone he's grown close to helped him realize it. H-He wants to restart over with him and prove that he's not always the drunk arse that he usually sees. It's just a part of the package sometimes, and I'd like to think he cares enough to overlook that about me. Because he's stronger than I ever was." Harry doesn't slow, not seeming to realize that he's talking about himself now, though Louis knew this stopped being a story a long time ago. "He's not afraid to be himself even though he faces adversity for it. He was strong enough to come out on his own and admit his sexuality right away. Something I could never do. Never had the guts to do. I hope one day he can see that people look up to him for it, not down at him. And I'll be there to tell this story again when he does." His voice drops to a whisper. "So that he knows he's not the only one."

Louis sits, absolutely flabbergasted. His mouth is slightly agape, and his stomach curdles over his words, trying to digest them. What? "Did you just come out to me?"

Licking his lips, he nods slowly. "Yeah..."

To fill the awkwardness he feels about learning something so intimate, Louis jumps on him instead. His arms wrap around his neck and he nearly rocks him back with the force of it. Harry grunts in surprise, but Louis feels his lips curl against the skin just below his ear. "I'm not the only one," he whispers, and Harry squeezes him tight then signals for him to get off.

His voice comes out a bit high-pitched. "You're crushing my man-bits."

"Oh, sorry." Louis scurries off of him and sits back at the edge of the pool, cocking his head to pop a grin at him.

The pool boy ducks his head in, key in hand, and tells them they're closing the pool for the night. He waits patiently by the door, waiting for them, and Louis feels a little uncomfortable when he's looking right at him after he stares a little too long while Harry dries himself off with a fluffy white towel. It's not really his fault though. The water weight drags his trunks low on his hips, and his prominent v-line is showing. It doesn't fit his thighs badly either. Bless the lord for gay people.

"Lou, your phone."

Shit. He almost forgot - too busy staring. But he quickly looks back at him after snatching it.

"Did you call me Lou?"

*********

Harry takes a shower when they get back, letting Louis have the bed all to himself for at least ten minutes, and he savors it, rolling around so he's splayed across the entire thing. Because why the hell not. His phone vibrates when his head hits the pillow, and he groans, reaching for it lazily. Niall sent him some link or something.

Oh my lord. I found gold. Oh this can't be good.

He carefully opens it, biting his thumb and praying for the love of God that it's not more gay porn. He's already sent Louis like three different stories, and he hasn't opened a single one yet. Yet, he's not surprised when it is. He sighs, reading the top.

What the fuck is a Larry?

It's Harry and yours ship name! I actually found one with both of your names in it!!

And you've been searching this on the internet why...

Because it'd be fucking amazing and adorable

Yeah, okay.

*Rolls eyes* are you in Manchester yet or are you still on the road?

"I'm in Manchester, bitch!" Louis giggles, sending a snap of himself crossing his eyes and pointing to the painting of the log cabin above the bed.

Sweet!! Wait. Do you get your own bedroom?

No, I'm sharing with Harry.

Akfkehebkrkrrbrkro

Are you alright?

AND YOU GUYS ARE SHARING THE SAME BED?!?

Yes

Oh my god. My Larry wet dreams are coming true!!!!

Dear lord, please keep that to yourself next time, would ya?

Are you guys going to be sleeping together or SLEEPING together? Wink wonk 😉😉😏😏😉😉

Bro, I think your eye is twitching.

I hate you. You never let me have fun. You're hating on my dreams right now.

It's my job. 😘

Fine. Next time you can find your own smut. 🖕

Louis laughs. And I won't miss it.

Liar!!!!

I'm going to sleep. Goodnight, Ni xx

Ugh. We are not done with this discussion. Night Lou xxxx

Louis puts his phone to sleep and taps the edge of it boredly. But he hesitates before plugging it in, unlocking it again. He's never actually read one of these things that Niall's so obsessed with. Maybe it's actually good. And Lord knows Louis can't turn down a good book. Eventually his curiosity gets the better of him and he reads some of the story Niall sent. He ends up blushing about two pages in and deems it too risky to read while his stepbrother is in the next room taking a shower, quickly closing it. It's completely inappropriate, but for some reason, he wants to keep reading it. Fuck. He blames Niall.

I hate you for getting me hooked. X

He reaches across the bed and plugs in his phone, setting it aside. Then he pulls the warm covers up to his chin so that he feels like he's drowning in cotton, and the door finally swings open, letting in a crack of light from the hallway. A figure smelling like apples crosses the room and joins him in the bed, rustling till he finds a comfy position.

"Please tell me you're wearing clothes."

"Uh..."

"Oh my lord."

Harry chuckles. "I'm offended. Yes, I'm wearing boxers."

"I won't be able to sleep now. Now that you've polluted my mind with mental images. So thanks. Thanks for giving me nightmares."

"Oi."

"That was a compliment. Gosh. You should be honored to be in my nightmares."

"Great. I'll remember that next time."

They both exhale at the same time, sounding utterly exhausted, and Louis giggles. Though it's dark, he can make out the faint outline of his toothy smile, and looking at it, he starts to feel a little guilty. Harry just told him pretty much everything, and he still hasn't told him that he's been on a date yet. He probably doesn't care, but something tells him he needs to tell him to build that trust between them.

"Harry, you've been on dates, right?"

"Uh, yes?"

"How would you - if you happened to just have one - know whether or not you should see that person again? After the date."

Harry squints at him. "That's a really random and suspiciously specific question. Though if I had to say the thing you should base it off of is chemistry. You have to feel that spark or it's just going to be a bland next three months. Um, they have to be easy to talk to. Someone you feel comfortable telling anything and everything to. Even the ugly parts that they might not necessarily like. And...being cute helps. A lot." Harry looks at him weirdly when he says that, and Louis blinks, trying to see if he can see more. "Why do you ask?"

Louis opens mouth and then closes it because he's a wimp. "No reason."

"Okay...then what was going through your mind when you asked it?" Louis bites his lip, and suddenly all the amusement disappears from his face. "You've been on a date, haven't you?" He would even say he sounds accusatory.

"Maybe."

Harry's eyebrows knit over his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it mattered."

He scoots away from him when he says that and turns the other way to fall asleep. Louis feels a little confused and a little hurt, but he keeps talking. "It wasn't something I originally meant to do. My dad set it up. But, I mean, he was nice and, based on what you said just now, I think I should see him again -"

"Louis, I don't care."

That shuts him up. "Oh, okay."

With nothing else being said, he curls up on his side, on the very edge of the mattress and falls asleep with a frown. He waits for him to say something else but he never does.


	24. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Harry is a bad pill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played soccer for the first time in like four years. I think at one point I was having a heart attack but I’m fine now

Harry wakes him up by slapping him with a pillow, and the plush rectangle startles him out of a really fantastic dream. He's curled up on the edge of the bed still, where he fell asleep, but he flails and punches Harry in the chest in surprise, screaming. A large hand immediately comes between them, slapping his hand down and rubbing his chest with a frown until Louis calms down a little. He doesn't remember what exactly he was dreaming about, but he's pretty sure it involved a lot less of his stepbrother. And he kind of really wants to go back to a place where Harry didn't wake him by pillow.

"What the hell was that for?" He yells, picking up his own pillow and hitting him back.

Although Harry's hair was already a little mangled from sleep, the pillow creates a static and the strands rise to make him look like he was just electrocuted on one side. His plump lips part in shock, appearing every so slightly pissed that he actually hit back. Maybe it would've been alright if it was playful, but Louis' not feeling real playful at the moment. Ever since their little spat - God, it wasn't even a spat - he's been in a rut, mind wise. He wishes he could just say that those four words didn't effect him, but then he'd be lying. They probably made it into his dreams somehow with how much he rolled it over in his mind before he finally passed out.

"It's time to wake up."

"And you had to slap me with a flipping pillow?"

"It's effective."

Louis scoffs at his seemingly disinterested and unapologetic face, pulling the covers back over his body. "I think I'll pass. Wake me up when you're not acting like an arse." Ha, that rhymed.

Sighing, Harry moves around to the other side of him. His long fingers dig into the comforter and attempt to yank it from his grip - to no avail. And, ha, no that's not ever going to get him out of bed. He thinks he remembers his dad comparing him to a wolverine when it came to sleeping before. "Louis, come on. Mum and dad are waiting to go down for breakfast."

His ears perk at the sound of food, but he keeps his head down, moaning into his pillow. As much as the idea of food calls to him, he can't find the effort to move or even face Harry fully after last night. It's clear that his stepbrother is ticked about something - something about his date, more specifically. But, the thing is, Louis doesn't know what the hell he did wrong. He went on a date. With a cute guy. That he liked. What's so bloody bad about that? Should he be hated because he actually enjoyed it? That doesn't seem right. He doesn't understand.

"Louis, I will literally drag you out of this bed if you don't get your arse up in the next five seconds. I'm not waiting for you any longer." And to his amusement, Harry actually starts counting to five.

At the mention of four, he sits up slowly and blinks innocently with his big eyes, knowing that it works with Niall when he wants to get out of trouble. He holds his arms out, fluttering his eyelashes, but Harry doesn't fall for it. His large hands wrap around his ankles, pulling him down the bed, and Louis rolls off onto the floor, hitting his tailbone on the wood.

"Harry! Ow!"

"You're a giant man-child." His voice is void of all humor, and he just sounds overall done with Louis. "Seriously, get the hell up."

"Thanks, I try," he replies sarcastically. Harry walks over to his closet and starts pelting things at him. Some sweatpants, a shirt, and socks. A shoe hits his shoulder, and he gasps. "What the hell, Harry? You could've hit me in the fucking head!"

Tensing, he glances over his shoulder briefly before blinking and shutting the doors. "Get dressed. And make it snappy," he mumbles, gliding across the room to the giant mirror on the other side of the room. His eyebrows furrow, and he licks his finger to fix his mess of hair, clearly diverting all of his attention to his precious appearance instead of on Louis.

Louis throws his shoes at the ground in anger but does as says. He thinks he sees his eyes dart up momentarily when he's stepping into his sweatpants, but it's just a flash. "Why are in such a bad mood this morning?"

"I don't want to fucking talk about it."

"Jesus," Louis comments. "You don't have to take it out on me. I didn't do anything to you."

Harry doesn't respond to that one, pursing his lips. His effort to fix his hair is clearly in vain as it just springs back into place, and he can see the frustration swimming in his eyes. As much as he doesn't want to be the bigger person and just step back, that's what he ends up doing because Harry's got him on a metaphorical leash, and he'll do anything to keep Harry happy. It's rather pathetic actually. Sighing, Louis reaches into his suitcase and pulls out a hairbrush. Apparently he's sneakier than he gives himself credit for because Harry jumps when he gets behind him, dragging the brush through the front of his curls. "Just brush it, Harry."

He motions for Harry to take it from him, but he doesn't, blinking. "I don't have lice I promise." Louis just keeps going when he says nothing. His mum used to do this to him all the time. It's a tad strange - the intimacy of it, but Harry just closes his eyes against the drag of the bristles and his fingers. "I don't know how you live with all this hair," he mumbles, referring to the many layers of silky curls that seem endless. "It's like a forest."

"You get used to it," he responds quietly. It's not much, but Louis will take it. It's a lot better than Harry acting cold towards him. If he can use this technique to always calm him down, he'll be pleased.

And assuming all this brushing is actually buttering him up, Louis tries again. "Why are you mad at me?"

Harry frowns. "I'm not mad. Just...disappointed."

"In what? Me? What'd I do?"

"Nothing," he admits. "You didn't do anything wrong...That's what scares me." Okay...Louis doesn't know what that means.

The brush catches on a large tangle, and Louis tries his best to be gentle, but apparently not that hard. Harry whimpers, his head snapping back to try and follow the brush, but it ends up catching further. "Shit, sorry. You've got a massive rat's nest back here." And working through it slowly, over and over, he understands why it takes him thirty minutes to do his hair. Louis' just glad his hair doesn't do that. Out of habit, he reaches up to nudge his glasses but they're not there, and he sighs, squinting at the knot as if it were his enemy. Dropping the brush, he uses his fingers instead, accidentally tugging here and there. He tenses on multiple occasions, and Louis rushes out a messy apology before going again. It takes a really fucking long time for one head of hair and at the end, he's sure Harry's scalp is very sore because he reaches up to rub it, and there's goosebumps on the back of his neck. But on the bright side, his hair is extremely soft and glossy now, shining under the light in a way that reminds him of what a knight from a Disney movie would look like.

"Geez, Louis. Could you have tugged a little harder? I think you assaulted my scalp."

"I'm sorry. Did you want the knot out or not?"

Harry sighs, running his lengthy fingers through his newly brushed hair as if he can sense he crossed the line between friend and foe again. "Thank you. I appreciate it." Squirming, he shifts in his black jeans, yanking them further up his hips when he thinks Louis' not looking. Louis raises an eyebrow, and his eyes dart up, widening when he sees that he's watching. "What?"

"Do you need a belt or something?"

"Uh, no. I'm good." Louis shrugs at his answer, moving to the night table to fumble for his glasses. "Suit yourself. But if your pants fall down, I'm not responsible for how many pictures I take." For good measure, he sends a cheeky smile over his shoulder in the hopes to lighten the mood. He doesn't think they actually will; They're so tight around his long legs that he worries about the blood flow to his large, pigeon-toed feet.

Letting a chuckle escape his previously frowning lips, Harry moves to the door and opens it for him. "Our parents probably left us ten minutes ago at the rate you're leaving this room."

"Hey," Louis complains, stepping out into the hall and Harry following him closely. "You're the one with nonnegotiable hair. It took, like, fifteen minutes to work that one knot out. And, let me tell you, my arm is not very happy with me at the moment." He lets it flop around by his side for emphasis, making Harry smile. "See? It's like a noodle."

"I'm sure my hair feels very accomplished."

Louis twists his head to look up at him, turning to walk backwards and observing the way Harry's face gradually relaxes into a playful expression, eyes glinting. "Well, well, well. Look who's not angry anymore. I must be fucking amazing at resolving conflict. I should be the next Oprah or Dr. Phil."

"I'd say you got lucky."

The ride down the elevator is a bit awkward, neither really saying a word when they step in. And Louis just stuffs his hands in his fuzzy pockets, kicking his feet as they wait. Harry spends most of the ride leaning against the back pole and biting his lip absentmindedly, the pink color flushing different shades as he rolls it between his teeth. They look shiny. Like, really shiny. And plump. It must be the lighting in this tiny space, but either way, Louis feels his fingers itching to reach out and press the stop button on the elevator just so he can claim it's an accident. He doesn't, but when the doors bing and Harry steps out, he kind of regrets it. The thought of spending a couple extra hours in there with Harry not sounding completely repulsive.

The first thing Louis notices is that the breakfast is a buffet type thing with dozens of different food options. To be honest, he thought they'd be eating oatmeal or something outdoorsy. Instead, there's an entire line of meats. And Louis swears he's in heaven. He quickly snatches a plate, following Harry to the first line.

He waits patiently behind him, watching his hand dish out food slowly. It takes a while for each item as if he's stalling, and Louis looks up, irritated, only to see him basically eye-fucking with some girl across the buffet line. She's doing that annoying thing where she twirls her hair, and Harry's lips twist into knowing smirks. It's just really annoying because no. Just no. Louis nudges his shoulder roughly, nearly making him spill his scrambled eggs across the bar. "Harry, come on."

"I'm going," he snaps.

It's not really that bad - the flirting. That is until Harry sends a very obvious wink, and Louis' had enough. "Last time I checked, you were gay."

Shrugging, Harry turns to him, eyes glazing with something he doesn't recognize. An emotion, definitely. But he can't tell which one or for what reason he'd be looking at him like that. It makes him nervous. Almost like he's mad again. "Last time I checked, you weren't jealous." He sharply picks up his tray and moves to the next line, leaving Louis in the dust.

Not knowing what else to do, he finds his parents amongst the arrangement of tables, frowning. He pulls his chair out with an ear-piercing squeal and sits down. "M'not jealous," he mumbles into his plate. Even though his stomach curls in distaste just looking at the girl and his teeth grind softly because he's the only person Harry should be flirting with, he'll never admit that jealousy is what he actually feels.

*********

"Alright...ticket for you." Louis' dad hands one to Harry, then grabs the second one. "And a ticket for Lou." He chuckles lightly at his own joke, but Louis doesn't find it funny at the moment. Louis gets the feeling that Harry's angry with him yet again. Mostly just based on the way he keeps his head down, only lifting it slightly to fix the headband that keeps slipping out of his curls. He swears Harry's actually going to start growing into that thing, he wears it so often.

"Okay, boys, so...I couldn't get four seats in a row, so you and Harry will not be sitting with us." Louis looks up with startled eyes, catching Harry cast him a quick glance. "It's nothing major. We won't lose you or anything because we'll be in the same section, just in different rows. That's not so bad. Just stay together and don't wander off without telling one of us first, alright? It's a big stadium, and I don't want you guys to get lost. If you need anything, we'll be right above you."

"Okay, Papi."

Harry nods curtly, and all together they wind their way to section 23, their parents splitting off at row 10 to find their seats, while Louis and Harry go down to row 4. They don't say anything the whole trek through the stadium, and Louis would feel forced to check to see if he's actually still behind him if he couldn't smell his cologne every time he inhales or sense his hot breath at his neck. It's loud enough around them though that it's not horribly awkward or anything. At this point, most of his focus isn't on Harry at all anyway, eyes fixated on the lovely green of the field below them. He can't believe he's going to see professional footie in real life.

By the time they reach their seats, there's still a half hour till kick off, and Louis groans silently as he realizes that means he has to spend it wedged between his stepbrother and some sweaty guy. Harry bony knee keeps knocking into his own, and Louis hisses at him.

"Sorry," he whines. "There's literally no room." It's true for him though. His lanky body struggles to fit within the dimensions, and the poor lady behind them gets a face full of Harry's bum as he squeezes into his seat. With nowhere else to put his arm, he places it along the back of Louis' chair, and, if he didn't know any better, he'd think it looks like they're dating.

Louis laughs. "You just shoved your arse in that lady's face."

"Hopefully she enjoyed the view," he plays off coolly, smirking as he finally manages to settle down. But then his face contorts again when he looks down the aisle. "Fuck. How am I going to get out of here? What if I have to go to the loo? Oh my lord, I'm trapped. Why the hell do they make the seats so fucking small? I'm only six feet and I barely fit!"

The older, sweaty guy next to him pulls a chilly dog wrapped in tin foil from his pocket, opening it up and taking a large bite. Some chili falls off and splashes next to Louis' shoes, making him cringe back into Harry. "At least you don't have to sit by Mr. Chili dog. I swear. People are so fucking gross. I'm just going to move to another planet where animals are the human race, and I'm just going to adopt all of them instead of getting married."

Harry hums, the noise in chest reverberating against Louis' shoulder. "Take me with you."

Louis grabs the flag they handed out outside the doors to the stadium, twisting his shoulders and whacking Harry with his elbow to shake it behind him. "Oof," Harry complains, rubbing his cheek. "What are you even doing, you loon?"

Giving him a look, Louis takes the string ends and ties them around his neck, tucking it behind his back in the seat. He points at it and beams, wiggling his eyebrows. "Look, it's a cape." He puts his fists on his hips, sitting up straight and furrowing his eyebrows as he lowers his voice to imitate a superhero. With his glasses, he hopes he looks sexy like Superman and not the school physics teacher. "I'm MU man."

With a roll of his eyes, Harry leans back, fingers tapping the seat next to his shoulder. "Louis, your dork is showing."

Turning his head, he sees just how close they really are, and he gets an idea. It's not really that great of an idea, but in the moment it seemed so. Louis bites his lip as seductively as he can muster, praying that he doesn't look like he's in pain, and shifts so he can get close to his ear. His green eyes track him movements carefully, pupils getting wider as he looks down. "Harry, guess what?" He hums, sounding a bit dazed. "Your boner is showing."

"What?" The best part is that he actually looks down frantically - like he expects there to be a bulge in his jeans, skin turning white, and Louis laughs. Harry sucks in his bottom lip and whacks him in the shoulder - hard. "You're an evil person. A really sick person."

"It was too easy."

A couple of players dash onto the field, passing around balls and gaining his attention, but there's still ten minutes left till game time, and he turns his gaze back to Harry boredly, leaning his body back to rest against his bicep.

Harry suddenly shifts his arm away, scooting towards the end of his seat and crossing his legs so that he'll actually fit. "Oh, I want to show you something."

Louis clenches his eyes closed. "Please be food."

"It's not food," he chuckles.

"Dammit."

He looks up at him meaningfully. "Clench your fist as tightly as you can. Harder...Harder."

"My hand will turn into a diamond if I squeeze any harder." Harry grabs his hand, using his thumb to rub circles over his fingers. It sends little sparks of excitement down his spine, but he tries to ignore it to the best of his ability. It's just because he's attractive, is all. Then he very, very slowly opens his hand face down, only stopping momentarily before flipping it palm up. The nerves at the tips of his fingers go crazy, tingling with feeling and his palm feels numb. He can't tell if it's a part of the trick or if Harry's actually making his skin crawl. "What is this supposed to accomplish?"

"Just watch. I'm going to pull a string out of your hand."

"A string?"

"An imaginary string. You'll understand when I do it."

Louis giggles as Harry brushes his hand. "It tingles."

Harry just smirks, taking his thumb and pointer finger and making a pinching motion. Placing it at the base of his palm, he slowly drags it towards the center of his hand, and the prickles of pleasure along his hand make him dizzy. Louis gasps as he feels something sliding along his skin. It really does feel like he's pulling a string out of his skin, yet he doesn't have anything in his fingers.

"Woah." Louis claps his hands together excitedly, Harry making a little curtsy with his hand before putting it back round his chair. "Do it again!"

"Uh-uh. No repeats."

"Boo."

Twisting around in his seat, Louis gazes at all the fans around them. It's fucking loud, and about half of them are drinking beer and laughing obnoxiously, spilling it over the rim and onto the stadium floor. Ugh. Drunks. People can be really bloody stupid when they drink, and Louis has no doubt he'll lose some hearing ability and learn a few new curse words by the end. This is a pretty important game as well - with it being a rivalry and all. So people are definitely going to get upset if a call doesn't go their way.

He sees a couple fans with the new Manchester United jersey, and he screams internally. He must get. "Dad, I want a jersey," he yells back six rows and earning a few disdained looks.

There's a faint "no" shouted back at him, and he pouts, slumping in his seat. "Louis, you have fifty in your closet at home. You'll be fine. You don't need any more."

"Life is so cruel," he whines. 

Harry pokes his pout, eyes shifting across his face and catching on the natural light streaming in above, turning them vibrant. "Want to hear a football joke?" 

"It's probably dirty, rude, or insulting...so yes." 

"Are you David Beckham?" 

"Ha. No, but I wish." 

"Because I'd bend for you." 

Harry grins when Louis cackles. "Dear lord. That was awful. Was that a pickup line?"

"Maybe. Want to hear another?" He doesn't wait for a response, shuffling in his seat to get closer. "Rooney's good, but I'd like to get Messi." 

Louis fans himself, fluttering his eyelashes and pretending to feel hot. But then he stops, pulling his lips into a straight line. "Kill me." To which, Harry just sticks his tongue out, and Louis must say, it's still quite lovely.

"Are you Suarez? Because I'll let you bite me all night." 

"Are you done?" 

"One more." 

"I thought you only asked if I wanted to hear a joke. A. As in one. This is bloody child abuse."

"I won't give you a yellow card if you take off your shirt...there I'm done."

Louis just stares at him, but he's clearly fighting a smile. "You're an idiot." 

"Hey, you can't find a boy with jokes like that just anywhere." 

"Yeah, I can find a boy with better jokes."

"Lies."

The teams line up in a standard formation across the field, and a whistle sounds throughout the stadium, erupting ripples of cheers to break out. "Just watch the game, you dork."

Louis only makes it about six minutes into the game before he's in desperate need of something. "I need to use the loo," he whispers to Harry, finding it mildly amusing the way his face turns scared and he tries folding his legs so Louis can scoot past.

"I can't bend this way! Why didn't you go before we sat down?"

"Oh, hush. Just suck it up." Louis tries to get out first by walking down the aisle, but his leg gets stuck between Harry's knees and the seat in front of them. "Um." He gently yanks it back out, ignoring Harry's murderous face as he reaches a hand out to steady himself and presses it flat against his face. On a lighter note, his skin is quite soft. "I'm having difficulties."

"I can see that."

The person on the other side of Harry is short, probably about his height, and there appears the be enough room to get his legs in if he can reach it. A couple people behind him complain that he's taking too long, and he squeaks, choosing his rash and probably catastrophic solution - which is to straddle him and swing his legs over.

"Okay," Louis says slowly. "This is going to look really weird, but just go with it."

Bringing his leg up, he struggles to swing it around to the other side of Harry's legs. And, of course, its high and his knees are tall enough that they're sloped enough on him that he slips and slides down Harry's lap, catching himself with his forearm on the chair behind him. His stepbrother's eyes go wide upon seeing him suddenly so close to his face, and he doesn't really blame him either. He's almost properly straddling him. In public too. Louis' face tints pink, and he fumbles to stand back up. "Shit. Sorry."

In a rush, he manages his other leg over, and practically darts down the rest of the way. Maybe he should just hide in the bathroom forever. It sounds like a good plan.

Louis does his business really quickly, and is just on his way back when his stomach growls. He pats his pockets, halting to search for money and grins when he finds he remembered to bring his wallet. Hell yes. Although, maybe it's not the best idea to leave Louis alone with money and food vendors because he ends up buying probably way too much. He gets two hot dogs, nachos, and two drinks. Louis thought he'd be nice and get Harry something while he was down here.

The trek back is not much easier, and Louis once again crashes into Harry's chest. "I swear I'm not doing this on purpose."

Harry just chuckles, eyeing the food in his arms. "What'd you get?"

Louis holds up a finger, telling him to be patient as he sits down and sorts it all out. "M'kay. Hotdog for you." Smiling, Harry takes the foil wrapped food from him. "And drink for you. I hope you like Pepsi because I'm sure as hell not going back down to buy you more."

"It'll be fine. Thanks."

Taking a bite, Louis makes a face, yet keeps stuffing it in his face. "This stadium food is utterly revolting." 

"Yet you're eating it." 

Louis shrugs. "Well, yeah. I'm not going to turn down food when it's within arm's reach of me."

Suddenly there's a hand grabbing his shoulder and forcibly pushing him back in his seat, and Louis squeals in surprise, spilling his drink. "Louis, watch out." It's not till then that he notices the giant ball coming straight for his head. Before he can fling his food everywhere and cover himself, Harry's arm reaches around him and catches it before it can hit him, and he breathes out, sagging.

His heart is thumping rapidly in his chest still, calming down after that sudden scare. A couple of people whisper and try to get closer, saying something about them being lucky, and Louis looks down the field to see a group of players huddling close to their seats and reaching their hands out. Rooney specifically calls up to them. "Oi, mate! Send the ball back!"

Harry nudges him, bringing him out of his trance. "If you want to touch it, do it now before I have to throw it back." Louis does so quickly, mentally screeching in excitement as his stomach flutters. He touched the game ball.

"I can't believe I shared skin cells with Rooney," he squeals.

"That's disgusting, Lou." 

"You're letting off skin cells just by breathing, you know. If you're that disgusted, you should probably stop breathing." 

Harry shoves him lightly but smiles. "You'd miss me too much." 

"No, I'd throw a party." Louis scoots closer in his seat, setting his drink down and paying attention to the corner kick. One of the city players passed it out in front of the goal, and another taps it in. "That was offsides!" He complains, hearing others join him in that around him. "He was offside, ref!" 

"You realize he can't hear you, right?" 

"Don't stomp my dreams, Styles." 

Harry leans back and groans longingly, taking a nacho from his basket and ignoring the death glare Louis shoots him. "I could really use a beer right now." 

"You should stop drinking so much." 

"Why?" 

"I don't like it. It's a bad habit." 

"Aw, Louis cares about me." 

Louis blushes fiercely, but he doesn't deny it. "I do. You're underage, and you shouldn't be drinking."

"I'm only like eight months away from being legal." Louis just gives him a look that silences him.

At halftime, they take a break to play commercials and all that fun stuff, and somehow they end up on the kiss cam. "Oh my god! Why?" He whines, while Harry just starts coughing, spitting out his Pepsi all over the person in front of them, and let him just say, he was not pleased.

"What the fuck?"

Louis sinks down in his chair, trying to hide his face from the screen while simultaneously looking at Harry. "Maybe if we don't do it, they'll go away." The people around them smirk, whooping and chanting for them to do it, and Louis blames all of this on Harry's arm. If it wasn't wrapped around his chair, people might not think they're a thing.

Harry looks at him, tilting his head and glancing around. He looks a little daunted by all the noise too. "C'mon, Louis. They're not going to stop until we do it. Let's just make it quick, okay?"

"Fine. Score one for peer pressure." Breathing out shakily, Louis kisses his cheek. His skin is just as soft on his lips as it was on his hand, and he wets his lips after, surprised to find he actually tastes good. Like a spice. He kind of wants to do it again, yet his fear roots him place, sucking on the inside of his cheek and staring up at him. But, thankfully, he doesn't have to. Harry rolls his eyes dramatically before reaching across him to peck his lips, lingering just for the applause. This one is even better, in Louis' opinion, sparking a sharp fire in his stomach and making his lips ache with want. He never really thought that a guy's lips would be considered plush or soft, but Harry seems to fit that category.

Louis entire body feels hot, flushing when Harry sits back casually - like it didn't happen. But Louis' having trouble fathoming it. It's probably not even that big of a deal. "You realize our parents just saw us kiss, right?" 

He simply shrugs. "S'just a kiss. My mum knows we're both gay. It's not that big of a deal." When Louis says nothing, just tilting his head down to blush and pick at a string on his jeans, Harry scoffs. "Why so awkward?" 

"You were my first." 

Face contorting, his eyes widen in confusion. "First what? Kiss?"

"Yes," he admits softly.

After a second of silence, Harry snorts and bites his lip. "Good." 

"What does that mean?" Louis asks, eyebrows knitting in offense. Does he not deserve to be kissed? Does his breath smell? He breathes quickly in his hand and sniffs. It smells a little like nachos, but it's not bad so he doesn't think that's it. Is he horrible at it? How would he even judge that? They didn't even move their lips!

Instead of offering an answer, Harry just points at his last bit of nachos. "Are you going to eat that?" Louis shoves it at him, having lost his appetite.

"No, you can have it." 

Harry grins, stuffing a nacho in his mouth. "So how do I kiss?" 

"Like rubbish."

Humming, his eyes narrow in amusement. "I don't believe you. My ex said I was an amazing kisser."

He coughs awkwardly, and Harry cocks his head towards him, chuckling. "No need to pout, Lou. You're better at it than him anyway."

That makes Louis crack a small smile. "He was that bad, huh?" 

"Atrocious. I have no idea why I stayed with him so long to be honest. He wasn't even that cute."

"Do you have any pictures?"

"No, sorry. I deleted them all when we broke up."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's whatever. Word of advice though. Don't ever force a relationship that's not working. That'll just make both of you miserable." Something tells him he's speaking from personal experience here. "Oh, and if your boy toy ever touches you, I'll beat his arse in." His tone is completely serious, not a hint of play in it, and that scares Louis a little bit. "Just so you know, and feel free to tell him too."

"Woah, calm down. There's no need to arse beat on anyone here." 

"If he chops his hands off, there isn't." 

"So you're the only one who's allowed to touch me?" Louis deadpans.

"Damn right." 

Louis rolls his eyes. "Don't be one of those brothers. No one likes those brothers." Harry simply smirks and puts his hand on his knee, squeezing.

His bum suddenly vibrates, and he furrows his eyebrows, digging in his back pocket to get his phone out. Whatever Niall wants he should just keep to himself right now. He's not in the mood for gay porn. When he looks though, his mouth forms an "o" when he sees who it is. 

From: Jake  
To: Me

Hey, babe. Here's my number, if you ever need it. Text me back if you'd like to meet up again some time x

A large hand reaches across him and takes the phone from him. He glances up in shock, fingers curling to see Harry with it, face blank. For some reason, a rush of panic runs through him. He doesn't want Harry to see that. "Harry, what the hell are you doing? Give it back!" Jumping across his lap, he strains to grab it back, but he just moves it away from him.

"I'm making sure he knows his place." 

If you lay even a finger, a lip, or a glance at Louis, I will - 

Louis blushes, not even daring to think about his next words because they're pretty vulgar of the things his stepbrother will do to him. "Shit, Harry! You can't say that!" 

"Watch me." He presses the send, emphasizing the gesture with his thumb. 

"Jesus. He's never going to talk to me again." 

"Oh, that's a shame." 

You can't tell me to do shit, mate. 

"Harry, don't start a fight with him." 

"Why would I start a fight with him?" He mumbles angrily, typing again. "Just because he's dating my stepbrother." 

"I warned him about you, you know. The aggressive behavior and such. He's not scared of you." At least he hopes not. He doesn't want Harry scaring him away for the reason of him simply being an ass.

"I'll give him a reason to be scared." 

"What is wrong with you? Why are you being like this?" His mouth parts in shock when Louis suddenly raises his voice, managing a grip on his phone and ripping it from him, deleting whatever he just wrote. "Why are you ruining the one chance I have of going on a date?" 

His expression kind of reminds him of a kicked puppy. "I don't want you to get hurt," he whispers. 

"I can stick up for myself, Harry. I'm not a baby. I don't need your bloody help."

Harry clenches his jaw and looks away. It's silent for a long time, anger and something else clouding his eyes. "You're choosing him over me?" He wasn't exactly choosing anyone, but if had to choose a side right now, it wouldn't be Harry's.

"I guess I am," he snaps.

"Why?" Harry chokes. "You hardly know him." 

"After today, I don't feel like I know you either. You say you were never - never will be an arse, yet you sure act like one sometimes." Harry's lip collapses into his mouth, and his face is so devastated that he can't stand to look at it without feeling guilty. Even though Harry brought this upon himself. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

He gets up from his seat, squeezing past him to go up the aisle and asks awkwardly to change seats with Anne so he doesn't have to sit next to Harry. He watches his head drop, curls no doubt hanging low in his face when he takes his headband out and squishes it in his fist. Anne was a bit confused and concerned when he asked, certain something happened between them, but Louis just shakes his head. She gets the hint and makes her way six rows down. Fans near them stare, and he swears he sees a couple of sad glances between Harry and him. He really couldn't care whether or not they think they're dating. When his mum sits, she moves in close to his ear, murmuring softly and she attempts to rub his back slightly but he just shoves her off and rushes up the stairs, not coming back till it's time to leave.

Let's just say it was hard to enjoy the rest of the game after that.


	25. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis in Manchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jake who?  
> Lol. This is just pure fluff. Enjoy.

Harry never comes to bed when they get back their room. At first, it was just a little tick in the back of his mind that reminded him that maybe he wanted to stay up for a little while and watch television, but the door never opens.  
After much unwanted silence and rustling in the sheets, he starts to gets worried. The way his stepbrother's head had dropped after their fight was a bit concerning. He really didn't mean to be rude. He wouldn't purposefully do that to Harry now. When they first met, yeah, he would've been snappy and sarcastic because that's what he would've expected from Harry as well. But now they're close. And he doesn't want to think that he really just lost the chance of having another real friend just because he got a little annoyed. 

He's still not sure why the fuck Harry is mad. It's completely illogical. All he did was get a text from his date. A boy that he's only had one date with, and Harry's never met before in his life. What is there possibly to be angry about? He's his stepbrother, not his bloody life coach. 

Another twenty minutes pass of suffocating quiet, a whine of frustration bubbling up in his throat as he buries his face in his pillow. It's his fault for his insomnia. It's his fault for most everything Louis does. And worrying is apparently one of them. At midnight, he has enough. He can't take the worry that gnaws at his stomach. He needs to settle this spat with Harry before he drives himself crazy trying to figure out what he did wrong. Wrapping himself up in his sweatshirt, he opens his door softly and goes into the hallway.

There's a faint, warm glow seeping down the hallway from the area of the living room, the light dancing against the wall. Halfway down the hall, he's hit with a puff of warmth and he can hear the crackle of a fireplace running. Otherwise, there's total silence. Louis' heart speeds up a little, mind racing when the shadows flicker. He never really liked the dark.

The sight he stumbles upon is one that makes his stomach clench. Harry's curled up on the windowsill, facing the glass. A few soft thumps sound as the drizzle outside hits the window. It's hard to see his expression in the dim light, but he can tell it's not a particularly happy expression. Pulling his long leg up to his chest, he lets out a long breath through his nose. Louis nibbles on the edge of his sleeve, frowning as he realizes he has no idea how he's actually going to approach him.

Should he just go over there and talk to him or should he stay where he is and hope Harry turns around to see him? As appealing as the second one is, he thinks he'd probably find that a little creepy. Especially after not having said anything this entire time.

"Louis, I can hear you breathing."

Oh, okay. That solves that problem.

"How'd you know it was me?" He asks quietly, staying where he is so he can watch Harry slowly turn his head to look at him. The fire casts across his face, illuminating every carved feature. He's so gorgeous. If he weren't his stepbrother, he'd definitely be smitten.

"You're the only one I know of that uses Mango shampoo." What the fuck? Is he a bloodhound? How'd he even smell that? To be fair...he did just take a shower. He didn't know it was so potent though.

"Oh."

Were the bow of his lips always that prominent or is he just being creepy again? It's not exactly a masculine mouth, bordering a feminine look. But it definitely suits him. They appear plush - the perfect mixture, he bets, for both a rough and desirable kiss if he were ever to experience a real one. Not that he's thought about that. Okay, that's a lie. He has. But he blames it on his lack of romanticism in his life, not the fact that he wants Harry to fuck him into the mattress...He did not just think that.

"Are you just going to stand there? Because I'm not in the mood." Harry gives him a strange look from his perch. And oops. He was staring at his lips.

Shaking his head slightly, he carefully approaches him. "Harry," he says softly. Ignoring him, he draws his other leg in. His emerald eyes track his movement across the room, shining in the dark. "Why are you still awake? It's midnight."

"Why are you awake then? Thought you'd be sleeping like a baby without me there to annoy you."

Louis frowns, coming to a stop beside him. "Harry, you know I don't feel that way." He rubs his eyes at the sudden brightness of the fire in front of him, feeling exhaustion tug at his limbs. It's weird how you can be so emotionally and physically drained yet can't fall asleep. The whole idea seems like a stupid design. "Look, Harry. We're going to fight sometimes, okay? Being stuck together all the time...it's bound to happen. But if you just get mad at every single thing I do, then I don't know what to do. I'm trying, Harry. I'm trying to be a good stepbrother." 

Harry plays with his fingers, significantly calmer than he was at the game. But he doesn't look him in the eye either. "I didn't say you weren't."

"You make me feel like one."

Shaking his head once, he then rubs his large hand down his face. "I know. I'm sorry."

The heat of the room licks at his cheeks and nose, making it sticky enough for his hands to perspire a little. It's swampy almost, the air thick. And it's causing Louis to have trouble keeping up with this conversation. He thinks maybe he heard him wrong. Because Harry wouldn't just say that, would he? Pressing a thumb to his eyebrow, he frowns. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Harry licks his lips slowly, thoughtfully. "You're right. I am acting like a dick. I'm not even going to try to deny it." Dropping his socked feet back to the floor, he sways them gently so his toes press into the carpet. "You deserve to go out with him. I won't get in the way anymore." He stands from his spot, joints cracking and stretching a bit, and Louis can't help but wonder how long he's been curled up there.

"And what caused you to come to such a decision?" Louis presses.

His green eyes finally dart up from the floor, his height suddenly making him feel a little submissive. He hates being short. It's hard for anyone to take him serious when he has to look up at them. At the stature he is, he probably looks more like a bristling kitten than he would like. And Harry being a lot taller than him doesn't help. "Well, I was hoping I'd actually get to sleep in a bed tonight."

"I wasn't going to make you sleep on the floor, Harry."

Shrugging, he moves past him. "You seemed pretty keen on getting away from me at the game. I could only guess really that you wouldn't want to sleep with me too."

"Don't be ridiculous. How cruel of a person do you think I am?"

"I wouldn't know. Apparently I don't know my stepbrother at all based on the fact that he's chosen some stranger over me. It's not like I have feelings or anything."

Louis rolls his eyes. Here we go again. It's always the blame card. "It's not like that."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's it like?" He takes a lengthy step back towards him, challenging him.

"Harry," he deadpans. "I think it's sweet that you care about me. You're something I don't deserve. I honestly don't even know why you like me so much because I'm literally nothing special. But you're starting to suffocate me, and I'm already having trouble breathing. Sometimes you just need to let people do their own thing. You can't expect to control the lives of everyone around you. That's not how life works. Even someone as naïve as me can see that." Reaching out, he snags Harry's pinky. This forces his dark eyes from the carpet and onto his own, spurring a churn in his stomach. "I want this. I want to experience a normal date with a nice guy. Why can't you be happy for me?"

"You wouldn't understand." 

His nostrils flare a little when he says it, green scanning over every inch of his face like he's trying to tell him something but he's too stupid to interpret it. Which maybe he is. Because Louis really doesn't understand. "Why can't I?"

Harry shakes his head and turns around to maneuver his way to the couch. "I'm going to stay up a little longer. Why don't you just go to sleep?" He finds the edge of the blanket crumpled up there and pulls it onto his lap, digging in between the cushion - presumably in search of the remote control.

"N-No, I can't." Harry blinks at him. "That's why I'm up in the first place. You didn't come to bed, and I...couldn't sleep. I thought you were really mad at me." His bottom lip trembles a little as he realizes he made absolutely no progress at restoring anything the whole time he was out here, and Harry's face crumbles, body frozen. He seems like he doesn't know what quite to do.

Eventually Harry motions him closer, but he refuses, only shuffling forward. His eyes look sad. "Do you want to stay up with me then? I was just going to watch some tv."

After a shaky nod from Louis, he makes room for him under the blanket and glances at him expectantly. His face burns a little, eyes skittering back and forth between his eyes and the warm leather that has the faint print of his bum still on it. He instantly relaxes once he's under the blanket, curling in on himself a little. His back tenses at the brush of soft fingertips on his arm. "I'm not mad at you, Lou. I'm disappointed in myself mostly." He turns his head up a little, seeing Harry give him a small smile. "I handled it the wrong way, and you got annoyed with me. I get it. Now come here."

Harry pulls him into his lap, so much so that Louis' just straddling his thighs now. Normally he'd be uncomfortable, but he knows Harry just likes to cuddle, and it is rather cozy. Niall's pretty touchy too, so he's kind of used to it. "How are you going to see the tv from there?" He asks, slightly amused.

"Can you play with my hair?"

"Why?"

"It feels nice." Louis rakes his fingers through his curls repeatedly until he calms down a little, practically purring in his neck. Harry huffs a little when Louis scrapes his nails up the back, and he squirms, sliding his hands out and earning a groan from his stepbrother. His previously lidded eyes blearily flicker open. "Why'd you stop?"

Something dangerous flashes in Louis' stomach, and he panics, praying for the love of God that he doesn't get hard on Harry's lap. "My hand was starting to cramp." He quickly slides off his thighs to the side, making sure it's not suspicious by laying his head on his shoulder.

His stepbrother plays with Louis' hands on the couch, bringing their hands across to rest against his leg. It feels nice - their skin just brushing loosely together. "What's his name?" At first he's not sure if he actually said anything because he isn't looking up at him, but his hand stops whatever he was doing.

"Who?" 

"Your friend or whatever." 

"Oh. Jake. His name is Jake." 

Sighing, he meets his eyes. "I'm happy for you." He doesn't sound totally convincing, but at least he's not voicing his irritation anymore. At least he's trying, and that's all Louis could ask for.

"Thank you," he hums. A mischievous smile creeps onto his lips as he suddenly recalls something that somehow has eluded him thus far. "Can I call you Haz?" 

"Absolutely not," he warns quietly.

"Why?" 

"It's embarrassing." 

He mulls it over for a second then smirks deeper. "How about Harbear?" 

"Oh my fucking god. No." 

"You need a nickname." 

"I do not." 

"How about..." Louis pokes his finger in his dimple and grins, feeling the dip constrict tighter around his finger despite the obvious attempt to keep a straight face. He fails dramatically. "Dimples?" 

"You're a real piece of work. Fine, then you're getting a nickname." 

"Bring it on." 

Harry shoots him a toothy smile, appearing as if he feels accomplished by his idea. "Boo." 

"Boo?" He snorts. "It rhymes with Lou." 

"Indeed it does, Boo." Butterflies erupt in his stomach, and his body seems to heat up. Something about the way he says it is so gentle and raspy that his insides burn. Harry smirks, pleased by the reaction he got and feels his cheek with the back of his hand. "You're feeling a little warm, Boo. Aw. Does Boo like his new nickname?" 

Louis pushes him away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. "Oh, hush." Harry snickers. "S'just cute, is all." He yawns and head butts his chest. 

"Tired, Boo?" 

"Yeah," he mumbles. "I'm going to go back to bed." 

He's uncertain how successful he'll be in doing so when he actually starts down the hallway, but he can't stay up all night either. He gets fucking loopy when he doesn't get enough sleep. And he doesn't think anyone - especially Harry would want to see that. He may as well be drunk when that happens. Being careful to keep his creaks to a minimum, he closes the door softly and climbs into his now chilly bed, moaning. 

Before he can even settle down fully - not even twenty seconds later, the door clicks, and he whips his head to see a lanky frame slip inside. He smiles a little. Without a word, he slides into bed with him, tucking him into his chest and exhaling lowly like he's been given back something he's been deprived of. That's better. 

One heartbeat later, and he's out like a light.

*********

"I thought you loved horseback riding?" 

"I do!" 

"But you're bloody awful." 

"Shut up. I never said I was good at it."

Their parents had said they could go horse riding by themselves earlier that morning, stating that they were going to go on a date anyway. And Harry was more than happy to go with him, for whatever reason. He didn't even really seem to know what horse back riding was. Obviously, he was joking around, but he didn't seem thrilled by the idea originally, and he wonders what changed. Maybe he didn't want to be alone or he didn't want Louis to go alone. Either way he was a little shocked by his announcement that he's coming with.

It's not that it's a bad thing to be stuck with Harry all day, but he has an issue with his stepbrother's horse. He swears he's going to turn it into horse sausage. They haven't even left the corral yet, and the stallion keeps nipping Louis on the bum, and Harry thinks it's hilarious, cracking up. When, really, it's not funny at all.

"Even Baymax wants a piece of that arse," Harry comments loudly. The rest of the group, consisting mainly of old people gasp and mumble something about the youth of today while an older lad and the guide merely laugh.

"You're disgusting. And tell your horse to bloody stop, would you? I think he used teeth that last time," he whines, trying to rub his bum while still sitting in the saddle. His own horse snorts in aversion and dances recklessly beneath him. He squeals, grabbing it's muscular neck. "And why did they name this horse Princess? She's not ladylike at all. She's going to kill me!"

Harry laughs. "He knows a good arse when he sees one." But he clicks his heels and gallops ahead of him so that his horse no longer has a view. He settles in the space between the horse in front of him and Louis, smirking when Louis looks at him, appalled. The grace of it was elegant, and the horse put up little resistance.

"What the hell? How are you so good at this?" 

"I took horse riding lessons when I was five." 

Why is he not surprised? "I hate you." 

"Would you rather ride with me?" He asks carefully, noticing that Louis looks pale and uncertain about his own bucky horse. Harry pats his horse. "There's plenty of room up here. He's a big boy."

Louis bites his lip, glancing between Harry's jet black, completely calm horse and his own, not liking the bows they tied in her hair and the fact that she keeps nipping at an itch on her side like she wants to throw him off. It's no contest really. He hates that he had to settle with the only one they had left, and it's one that's clearly meant to be used by five year old girls. "Yeah."

The trainer, who is still going around, fixing and adjusting straps, helps him down and Harry leans his hand down for him to reach. He grabs onto it, stepping into the stirrup that Harry has graciously taken his foot out of, and together they manage to pull him up behind him. There's not enough room in the stirrups for both their feet, so Louis lets Harry take them since he's got the reins in his left hand, and he end up just squishing his body against his back, twining their legs. He's got the right amount of cologne on. Enough for him to feel dizzy when he breathes in but not enough to overbear him. Harry looks over his shoulder, and his nose touches his. That's how close they are. His sweet lips tug into a smirk, and Louis just blushes.

"Alright, class! Today we are going to take a trail into Redwood forest and around the lake. It's about a half hour ride total. The terrain can get a bit rough, so make sure you maintain tighten control on the reins. The last thing we want is for someone to fall into the lake. That would be bad. Again, if you just follow the safety procedures we discussed earlier and stay behind me the whole time, we shouldn't have any problems. Any questions? None? Great! Let's get going then."

Their guide looks to be in his mid thirties with chaps on his legs and authentic riding boots. He places a cowboy hat over his head before he climbs on the flea bitten gray horse with pretty blue eyes at the front and waves at the people below to open the corral.

Harry kicks the horse into a walk, jolting Louis forward into his back. Feeling unsteady, he wraps his arms around his waist and buries his face in the back of his neck. "Is this safe?" 

"Probably not." 

"Wait, what?" Louis frets.

"Don't worry. I've got this. He's a sweetheart - well trained. You've nothing to be nervous about." 

"You better not let me fall then, Dimples. You'll never hear the end of it." 

Harry smiles. "Never, Boo." 

After some time, they make it onto the actual trail, and Louis relaxes a little. The horses slow on the forest floor, and it's noticeably a much smoother ride. He loves feeling the sway of a horse underneath him. Even if he's not the most skilled at riding. He eases his grip and pulls his head up to stare at the trees above, dropping with new condensation. One drop falls on his nose, and he starts, going crossed eyed. It slides down his nose, evoking a small sneeze that he know is the most embarrassing thing on this planet, but Harry coos, looking back as Louis sniffles and wipes at his nose.

"You sound like a kitten."

"Shut up," he mumbles.

"Why?" He argues, sounding genuine. "It's adorable." Louis snorts. "Your snort on the other hand. Not so sexy."

Louis ignores that last comment, focusing on just enjoying the experience. The way his stepbrother's muscles contract against his chest tell him something he figured he already knew. Harry's made to be on a horse. Preferably shirtless. And that mental image is not displeasing in the slightest. 

"He's gorgeous," he sighs, patting Baymax's black hindquarters. 

"You want to steer him?" 

"Uh..." Prying his hands off his upper body, he hands Louis the reins, tucking them into his left hand. "I-I don't really know how to do this. I've never been on a trail ride before. Just in a corral." 

Harry soothes him by rubbing his thumb over his hand, and he slowly lets the tenseness fade away. Together, he guides him through the motions, placing his hands over his. "No, like this, Boo." 

"I can't see. Your giant head is in the way." 

"Lay your head on my shoulder." 

He teaches him along the way, pointing out the stuff he forgets to do or doesn't remember how to do, and it's sweet. It makes his insides flutter and curse. Sometimes he wonders why he doesn't just try to get Harry to like him back. He's clearly already putty in his large hands, and he loves the way Harry touches him. He's never been touched by someone like that before. Even Niall doesn't compare. They're not as gentle. Not to mention, he's hot as fuck - with sparkling green eyes of the richest colors and dimples to die for. God damn.

Sure, he's a bit bull-headed sometimes, but that's to be expected. They weren't exactly friendly when they first met. Maybe he stills feels a little hostile towards him about moving, and you know...it's okay. Louis understands that it's hard to relocate all of a sudden like that. But he's also one of the nicest people to him. Not many others at school like him, yet he came to him and confessed things to him he probably has only ever told his mum, and it makes Louis feel worthwhile. Like he has a purpose for something other than being a brainiac. He feels important to someone - besides Niall and his dad, of course. And, lest he forget the fact that Harry so easily accepted him and beat people up to defend him when he really had no good reason to. He'll probably never forget that.

The commands Harry teaches him are pretty straightforward, and he recognizes some of them. Mostly just walk, "woah", and how to turn left and right. But Harry gives him some nice tips about how to show that you're in charge if he ever does something you don't like. He demonstrates the shortening of the reins, keeping it not too loose so the horse knows he's in submission of the rider at the moment. It's a lot to take in and he pokes his tongue out, furrowing his eyebrows. Catching Harry staring when he looks at him, his cheeks warm.

"What?" 

Harry smiles smally like he knows a secret that no one else knows about. "Nothing." 

The horse in front of them stops to take a piss, and they halt for a brief second. The reins suddenly get taut, nearly sliding from his hands as Baymax drops his head to nibble at the grass at his feet. Panicking, he hits his stepbrother's arm softly. "Harry!" 

"Woah!" Harry says sternly, grabbing the short end of the reins to yank him up. "Don't let him eat the grass while he's got a bit in his mouth. It's bad for their teeth." 

Baymax snorts and backs up slightly, flicking his tail to hit his leg. Louis gasps, holding on tighter. He squeezes his eyes shut as the ground seems to shift and only opens them when they start to move again. Harry turns, setting a hand on his thigh. "Hanging in there? You're doing great."

"More like riding...in there." Louis makes a cheeky face - feeling pretty proud, but Harry smacks him lightly. "Ow. Sorry." 

"You should leave the jokes to me, Boo." 

Having enough, he hands the reins back to Harry, assuming that they're probably at least halfway done anyway. Harrys curls are flopping loose around his forehead today, no product in them, and they cover his eye, tangling in his eyelashes when the gentle breeze sifts through them. He brushes it back, and Harry's eyes quickly dart to him, the green dark with something. The curl naturally just kind of coils around his finger, so he draws it back with him. "Sorry, it was bothering me. But I like your hair down. It looks nice. You should wear it like that more often."

His teeth catch his bottom lip, crinkles by his eyes looking extra deep up close when he smiles in response. Louis sighs blissfully, wrapping his arms around his neck instead to lean over his shoulder. "You wanna watch a movie when we get back?" 

"That doesn't sound very outdoorsy," he teases. 

"Don't judge me." 

"Hm. Do I get to pick the movie?" 

"No." Harry raises an eyebrow. "Fine, yes." 

"Let's just see what's on, yeah?" He suggests softly.

"Seems fair, Harbear." 

He rolls his eyes but his shoulder twitches when he whispers in his ear, and he doesn't say anything about it. Apparently, he just doesn't deem it worth it since they're already stepping out of the woods and rounding down the hill to the corral. "Aw. It's over." 

Harry slides off first when they get back, making sure their legs are good and untangled so he doesn't drag him down with him, and Louis swallows, waiting for a trainer. Baymax is really tall, and he doesn't feel comfortable getting off on his own. For Harry it was easy. But even he had to jump down a ways. It makes Louis nervous. He clutches Baymax's coarse mane, swallowing. Instead of waiting for a stable boy, Harry grabs his waist, helping him off. 

He dusts himself off with a blush, hoping that'll stay between them. He hands the reins to the worker and stuffs his hands in his pockets, flashing Louis his teeth as he leads the way out of the corral. "You coming or not, Boo?"

Grinning like a lovestruck idiot, Louis nods jerkily and bounds after him. But Baymax nudges his bum with his muzzle, and he shoots the horse a disdainful look. His big, brown eyes are too wide and cute to be mad at though, and Louis smiles, scratching his cheek. Making a noise, Baymax nuzzles the edge of his hair, lipping it, and Louis giggles.

"That's enough. I gotta go."

He starts to follow him out of the corral before being pulled back by a worker, and he tosses his large head up. Harry's waiting for him just outside the fence, smirking as he leans against it. "Looks like you have a new boyfriend, Lou."

Louis laughs, shoving him. "He's just in it for the arse."


	26. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heh. More fluff.   
> Harry and Louis utilize their vacation time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m kind of spinning out right now. I only got wait-listed so far for vet school, so all my plans are so in the air right now. And so I have absolutely no idea what I’ll be doing this summer or next year. It’s great.

"Oh my God. You were right. Ew, ew, ew!" 

Harry lazily looks up from his position on the couch, watching Louis dart into the living area from the bathroom. His blue eyes are wide, perturbed, and his cheeks an awful shade of pink. He lowers the volume on the television so he can try to make out what he's muttering. "I was right about what?"

Louis bites his lip, nearly ripping the skin. He was really hoping the pain would remove the disturbing memories. He can't believe that just happened, and he saw it. "Our parents are fucking in their bedroom."

"How can you be so sure?" His stepbrother sits up, obviously trying to hide his snorting laughter. "Not that I think you're wrong. But they could be intimidating whales. You never know."

Walking over to him, he slaps Harry on the chest playfully. "That's not bloody funny! I'm a witness! I'm a fucking witness!" Harry pulls the blanket up to his chin, laughing loudly as he tries to block Louis' assaults. "I'll never be able to get those images out of my mind. I need to erase my brain...and then burn it. No, that's not enough - I need to drive to the middle of the desert and -"

"Shh," Harry shushes, grabbing his hand and pulling him down to put a hand over his mouth. "Let me hear."

After a good thirty seconds of silence and a skeptical look from Harry, there's a girly giggle. But at this point, Louis' more focused on the sight of the clean-cut jaw in his face. His green eyes dart between his and their parent's bedroom, ears no doubt straining to pick up the noise. "Why would you want to?" He questions with a scoff, cringing as the noises get a little more high-pitched.

They both finally snap at a moan, and Harry actually gets up, leaving empty space where he was supporting Louis over him. Squeaking, he loses his balance and tumbles onto the warm spot he was just in. He lets his gaze slide up in a disturbed way, making sure Harry caught his expression of annoyance. "Nope. Nuh-uh. I'm not listening to this. You want to go downstairs? Play some pool or get a bite or something? Anything? I just do not want to be anywhere near here." 

Groaning, he sits up. "Yes, please." 

"Unless you want to see who can make the most noise." 

"Harry!" 

"Now you're getting it. I think we'd win."

Louis' face feels hot. "Must you?" 

The curly bastard smirks, winking. As if he didn't suggest they had sex to compete with their parents about who could make the most noise. Raising his arms overhead, he stretches his lean upper body, looking at the clock. "I don't know how long it's open. Probably only till 11:30." 

"We've got time." 

There's a huge sense of relief when they make it out of the room, but a certain awkwardness as the reality of what happened hits. Harry puts an arm around his midsection and squeezes him in a brief hug to ease the delicate atmosphere that makes him blush and smile slightly. He turns his head into it - not even all that caught off guard by all the little touches anymore - and getting a whiff of his crisp scent before he retracts it again. "Don't worry, Boo. I still like you. Even though your dad is violating my mum."

"Violating?" He giggles. "That's such a bad word. That sounds horrible. You make it sound like she doesn't want it." Harry's eyes sparkle in amusement when Louis smirks playfully. "I think she wanted it. My dad's a pretty attractive man, mind you."

His green eyes flicker over him in a way that makes him feel warm. "It seems to run in the family."

Louis grunts out a curse, a grin stretching across his lips. "You're unbelievable."

"What?" He challenges hotly. "I thought it was fucking smooth." Hooking their arms, he softly tugs at Louis, steering him towards the hotel lobby. "I came up with that on the spot. I should receive an award for that."

"Leave your smooth talk for your mirror."

"Ouch."

As they get closer to the door, Louis realizes where he's headed. The smell of food and alcohol hangs in the air - the obvious stench of a pub. And it's obvious what his intentions are. "Harry, I'm not buying you a drink," he sighs. "Forget it."

"I just want to get some food. Relax, mum."

"Well, that's fine then."

The restaurant is completely deserted when they walk in, just a couple of bus boys milling around and picking up dishes. They all easily turned irritated at the sight of them, clearly believing that they had been done for the night. But the hostess still puts on a friendly, fake smile. "Hello. How many?"

"Two."

"Right this way."

"You've got ketchup on your lip, Boo." Louis reaches for his mouth, attempting to figure out where he's eyeing and ultimately failing. When he pulls his hand back after three attempts, there's nothing on his fingers. And Louis starts to believe he doesn't have any. "To your left. No, your other left."

"Quit messing with me," Louis grunts with a scowl.

"I'm not." He raises an eyebrow and reaches over the table to swipe his thumb over the corner of Louis' mouth, and sure enough there's ketchup. Oh my fucking God. His lip tingles, seemingly vibrating as his skin brushes against him. Louis scoffs, cheeks feeling warm. The way he pulls the move so smoothly on him almost feels like what a lover would do to his date - the touch tender and the smile both smug and fond. It's so bloody adorable, and his heart pumps in stuttering beats just knowing that he finally has that other friend who will stick by his side. And it's so easy to get lost in the moment, mind completely losing track of what's happening upstairs.

"You put that there." 

"Did not." 

"Did too." 

Smiling, he piles more ketchup on his plate for himself and points a chip at him. "You want to play a game?"

"Like what?"

"Well...I know this is usually a drinking game, but I haven't played truth or dare for a while. I've always thought it was fun. Thought maybe it'd be a good way to learn more about each other."

Louis grins. "Alright, I'll play. Truth." 

Harry snorts. "I didn't even ask you the question."

"You didn't have to."

Licking his lips, Harry sits back and taps his chin. His green eyes scan him over and over as he strains to come up with a worthy question. "You should've picked dare. I'm better at those." He sighs loudly, then his eyes light up. "Okay, I've got one. Are you a virgin?"

"In a sexual sense? Or in as, like, I've never had a certain type of food before?" 

He rolls his eyes. "Sexual." 

Louis bites his lip, a little hesitant to actually confess. Either he admits the truth and he embarrasses himself a little, or he lies and embarrasses himself a lot. Either way he loses, and this game is based on trust, so he decides to just speak honestly. "Depends." 

Startled, his lips part, and his eyebrows furrow almost angrily. "On what?" 

"Which end." 

"The bum end." 

"Then yes." 

"Are you saying you've had sex with the front?" 

Louis cuts him off with a grin. "Up. That's another question. It's my turn. And don't act all innocent, I'm sure you've fucked with people before. Truth or dare?" 

Harry sighs, leaning back again. "Truth, I guess." 

"If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?" 

"America," he says automatically.

"Why?"

He smirks. "Up. That's another question." 

Louis narrows his eyes. "Well played."

"Truth or dare?" 

"Dare." 

Harry frowns just briefly, clearly disappointed. "I dare you to pour hot sauce in your drink and take five gulps." 

Whining, he grabs his coke. "Aw, I hate hot sauce." With a wrinkled nose, he picks up the small red bottle and squirts some into the dark liquid. Harry props up onto his forearms to watch him closely, a smile spreading across his lips as he stirs it in. He gulps, staring down at it. "I hate you." After a quick breath, he swallows five times, trying to ignore the way his whole body burns. When he's done, he coughs violently and his eyes water. "I can't feel my tongue or my throat."

Looking a bit concerned at the salty tears running down his cheeks, he slides his own coke over. "Here. Drink." He greedily knocks down about half of Harry's drink, the liquid leaking from the sides of his mouth and down his chin. Harry laughs as he pants, fanning his tongue. "Hot?"

"You have no fucking idea. That was bloody disgusting." Swallowing, he pushes his glass back to him. "Ugh. Alright, my turn. Truth or dare?" 

"Dare." 

"I dare you to...go up to the waiter and hug him for three seconds." 

"Piece of cake." 

Pushing himself off the table, his stepbrother jumps up from his seat. The boy's back is to them as he walks towards the front of the restaurant, and Harry dances behind him as he follows right behind him, doing the moonwalk and pretending to grind on him. Louis laughs loudly but then tries to muffle it with his hand. Winking at him, he turns back around and grabs the waiter's wrist, twisting him into a hug. He squirms uncomfortably, but Harry holds him the complete three seconds before letting him go. The boy looks utterly frazzled, staring. "What the hell, mate?"

Without a word, Harry dashes back to the booth, his teeth beaming in a wide smile. "Damn, that was fun. I love seeing the look on people's faces. It's priceless." Louis giggles. "Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?" 

"Truth." 

"What do you mean when you say you're only half a virgin? What did you do? And how did you lose it?" 

"You're still on this?" When he gets no response, he sighs, biting his lip. "The first time I met Niall, he gave me a blow job." Harry chokes on the burger he just picked up again, and he can't help but smirk a little even though he feels like he's going to explode into flames. "You okay there?" 

"Where the hell did you meet?" 

Louis blushes, lips parting in embarrassment. "At my cousin's wedding. He was the best man." 

"Oh my God."

He shrinks down in his seat. "Shut up." After the information he just leaked, he thinks he'd be mad or protective, but then he just starts laughing - loudly. "What's so funny?" 

"Damn, Louis." 

"Stop making fun of me," he whines.

"Where'd you do it?" 

"In the bloody loo, okay?" He groans, tilting his head back as Harry pounds the table. "It's not funny! Why the fuck are you laughing?" 

"Niall did Lou in the loo." 

"I swear to god, Harry. Shut up -" 

He snorts, sighing as he calms down. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'm done." 

Louis drops his head into his arms on the table and tries to hide his face. Soft, warm fingers tug his hands away. "Aw, Boo. Don't be embarrassed." 

"Niall is embarrassing," he mumbles into his arms. 

"C'mon, Lou. It's my turn." 

He glances up briefly. "Truth or dare?" He mutters. 

"Truth." 

"Um, what's your favorite movie?" 

"Weak." His stepbrother smiles brightly, but it fades when Louis just shrugs. "That's an easy one. Love actually." 

"That cheesy romantic comedy?" That makes his lips twitch in interest. 

"Maybe..." 

Louis giggles. "That might be more embarrassing than mine." 

Gasping, he places a hand over his heart. "How dare you? It's a masterpiece." 

"Sure, if you're filled with estrogen." 

"Truth or dare, Lou?" 

"Truth." 

His eyes turn stormy in color, intense as he looks at him seriously. "Would you actually pick him over me?" 

Louis gnaws on his fry quietly, thinking. Though there's not really anything to think about. He's really just wasting time till he has to say something, and the longer he goes on, the darker his eyes get. "No." 

Harry licks his lips, face blank. The waiter brings the check, flinching and staring openly at Harry as if he expects another hug before running away to clear a table across the restaurant. It'd be funny if the mood hadn't suddenly turned. Harry grabs it, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. 

"I got it, Boo."

*********

"This has to be the best gym I've ever been to. Seriously. Look at it! It's huge!" Louis swivels from where he's straddling the weight stand to see Harry tug his slightly damp shirt off and drop it on the floor. Blushing, he busies himself with adjusting the ends of the weights and wiping the sweat off his forehead with a towel. "Our coach would freak."

"Wouldn't a professional footie player be used to this?"

"How would I know?" He sasses back, glaring at him through his eyelashes. His tan skin is slick, glistening with moisture and his tattoos glow under the fluorescent lighting. It's really distracting when he's trying to hold a conversation with him. Why can't he be that fit? "I'm not a professional."

He smiles, gliding a large hand through his curls and readjusting his old, fraying bandana. "You could be one day. You're really good. One day you might think this is normal."

"Wouldn't that be something?"

Swinging his leg over, he gets up from the bench and stops by the towels to get a drink from the fountain. He looks back, coughing back up some water so it runs out his mouth. In that short time, Harry had put in some earbuds and is now occupying the rowing machine, his entire body constricting with each row and small grunts leaving his mouth. Louis bites his lip hard, trying so valiantly to not look and still failing. Not even a second later, he runs straight into a barbell and Harry looks up only to laugh at him, stopping his row.

"Careful, Lou."

He immediately blushes and wanders away quickly to a treadmill. His fingers play with the buttons until he finally gets it running, and he just jogs slowly, staring at the chipped paint on the wall. This place is so nice, he's surprised to see even the tiniest dent. After a good while of avoiding the other side of the gym, a few breaks, and a good half hour of nothing but the sound of his tennis shoes hitting the belt, he gets bored and finds himself drifting back to his stepbrother, pleased to see he's getting up as well. He wraps a towel around his neck, wiping his face with the end. "Hey, can you grab my water bottle?" 

Glancing to his side, Louis sees his electric green water bottle by his side. "Only if I can have some." 

"No, absolutely not."

Louis smirks, grabbing it and rolling it in his wrist tauntingly - "How do you feel about germs?" 

"What?"

Grinning, he bites the end and squeezes some into his mouth, feeling the cool liquid run down his throat and soothing his dry tongue. "Mm. Refreshing."

Harry gapes, stepping closer. "What if I'm a germaphobe?" 

"That's a shame for you then, isn't it? I'll just have to keep the rest." 

"Louis, come on. I'm thirsty." 

"Thirsty for what?" 

Harry closes the gap and attempts to pry it out of his grip, sitting on the bench to get a better handle on it. When unsuccessful, he throws Louis to the bench and climbs over him, straddling him. His heart squeaks and his eyes widen comically, the weight of his stepbrother's thighs against his sides making him flush. He has the totally inappropriate urge to run his hands across them, and he's glad for the distraction when Harry rips the bottle from him. But then he doesn't get up and his hands are free, fingers twitching in rhythm to his heart beat. He feels he can feel it everywhere. In his neck, in his head, in his legs, in his stomach, and he's almost certain Harry can feel it too. He stares, taking a swig while maintaining eye contact, and Louis licks his lips slowly. 

Leaning down, his stepbrother's bare chest nearly presses against his shirt, and he smirks. He tilts his head to hover his lips close to his ear, his groin shifting down his body a little. Blinking rapidly, he feels a desperate noise rise in his throat and he bites his lip quickly to contain it. He doesn't think Harry really knows what he's doing - how long it's been since anyone has touched him like this because his breathing hits his neck steadily, and he blows in his ear.

"Next time, I'll do worse," is all he says, his confidence only wavering when the door clicks open.

His head shoots up, the tendons in his muscular neck becoming visible from this lower angle. After another second of fazed staring, he follows his gaze and catches a glimpse of his father searching the room before he's falling off the bench. The hands that pushed him disappear, and he rolls on the floor, groaning as he hit his back on the cement. It doesn't take his dad long to find them as they're the only ones there.

"Louis, what are you doing on the floor?" 

"Oh, you know," he squeaks out, voice cracking in a high-pitched way that sounds guilty or probably turned-on. He just really hopes it's not noticeable, and he'll just think that the floor knocked the wind out of him. "Just counting the pieces of used gum under this bench."

Harry smirks, putting his chin in his palm and gazing down at him from the bench. But his dad just shakes his head. "Well, get up, Lou. It's dirty. You don't know what's on that." 

"Yeah, Louis. It's dirty." 

He gives him the finger, making sure his dad doesn't see. "Fuck you," he hisses.


	27. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis go for a run. There’s a surprise in store for the two stepbrothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn. This book went by so fast. I’m kinda sad to see the last few chapters closing in. Good news though, I’ve confirmed a sequel for this. It’s been almost five years but whatever, better late than never, right? 
> 
> I might post some of my other stories too. We’ll see.

The soft crackle of the fire serenades the empty room, filling the silence with a soft melody that reminds him of the fact that he's all alone. Their parents left hours ago, doing lord knows what, and lord knows he doesn't want to know - and Harry, well, he's not quite sure. He thinks he recalls seeing him slink out the back door to the woods a good half hour or so ago, so for now, he just assumes he's all by his lonesome. And he takes major advantage of that, pulling on the large sweatshirt he stole from Harry and walking outside in just his socks to gather kindle and logs for the fireplace. Without all the bodies, it becomes overwhelmingly obvious how chilly it is inside, so he puts his fire skills to the test.

As soon as he sits down in front of it though, rubbing his sweater paws, the flame splutters out. Groaning, he rips up more newspaper and kindling, placing them at the base as he tries for a third time to set it ablaze. He clicks the lighter a few times, watching the newspaper catch and turn brown. He observes it closely, biting his lip nervously and praying for luck this time. A pile of small twigs tumbles into the corner, averting the flame, and he quickly but carefully reaches in to nudge it back into place, bum in the air.

He screams out a yelp, nearly falling into the flames when he feels a playful slap to his bum. Heart pumping, he scrambles to the side and glares at the person, but all he sees is Harry's retreating back in the kitchen, the breeze he trails smelling of wind and grass. Louis growls despite the fact there are tingles where he touched him. "Did you just slap my arse?" 

His stepbrother doesn't turn around to address him, searching the cabinets for something. "What if I did?"

"You nearly killed me! I almost fell into the fire!"

"Details." 

"Dick," he mutters. Breaking another stick, he throws it into the fire. 

"You're wearing my sweatshirt." His voice sounds almost soft, but he can't tell if he's amused or just saving his feelings. Sometimes he thinks Harry thinks he's too...soft. Maybe even weak or nerdy.

"Oh, did you want it back?" 

Harry blinks at him, sipping his drink. "No, keep it. It looks better on you anyway." 

Louis eyes him over his shoulder, secretly glowing on the inside. It's probably a meaningless comment to him, but it sets his heart into a frenzy. He can never resist a good compliment. However, he's determined not to show it. Smiling, he changes the subject. "What are you drinking?" 

"Hot cocoa. You want some?" 

"Yes please." 

Finally, one of the big logs catches as he hears Harry pad around in the kitchen, and he whoops gleefully. "I'm the master of fire!" 

"Don't get so excited. You built a small fire. You didn't burn down a forest." 

Harry taps him on the shoulder and hands him a mug, the steam rising up and coloring his cheeks. The warm liquid smells of spices, and he licks his lips to remove the foam and shovel as much as he can into his mouth because it's surprisingly excellent for such a simple drink. He must've added something besides the standard hot water and packet of powder. "Thanks."

After admiring his creation for a bit, he scrambles up and joins Harry on the couch while he searches the television for something to watch. "Did you put cinnamon in this?" 

"No." 

"Hm." 

Looking down at it, he notices a lip print along the ring - on the other side of the mug. Their white mugs are identical, and he thinks he sees the reason. "I think you gave me yours by accident." 

Harry frowns. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize." 

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. I'm not afraid of germs or anything." 

He still looks at him weirdly as he dismisses the issue. "I didn't put cinnamon in mine either." 

Louis just shrugs. Whatever. His palate must just be a little off today or something. Laying his legs out to rest on the coffee table beside Harry's, he makes note of the size difference and smiles as he envisions Harry just scooping him up and tucking him into his body. He'd easily fit there. But that'd be weird, so he quickly tosses the idea and takes another sip of his cocoa, closing his eyes blissfully. However, this time he can tell the spice he's tasting is not coming from the liquid but from the lip print under his own, and he chokes, coughing violently.

Harry jumps, startled. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah, it just went down the wrong pipe is all." 

Gazing at him, concerned, he reaches out and claps his back softly until he stops hacking. But all he can think about is the bittersweet taste on his tongue. Harry tastes like cinnamon. Of fucking course he does. He thought that only happened in movies and junk. And he certainly can't recall the memory of that the last couple times, but maybe that was due to the alcohol or something. Without thinking, he finds himself wondering if Jake tastes like cinnamon. And, god, he shouldn't be thinking about the taste of anybody's lips.

"I'm good, I'm good."

"Positive?"

"Mhm."

Coughing once more, he pulls the sleeves down over his hands and readjusts his grip on the mug. He has no intention of spilling this batch on the carpet - for many reasons. And by doing so, he catches his stepbrother's attention, watching him curiously as he sets his finished drink down and lays his head on his shoulder so that the tips of his curls tickle his chin and his overall essence overwhelms him. It's times like these that make him nervous because he feels like he's unpredictable. Even to himself, when he doesn't quite know what might run through his mind or what his fingers will itch to do because, with just his close proximity, he tends to feel a little drunk. His brain swims, and sometimes he has to grip onto something else just to anchor himself back to Earth. Thankfully, he has his mug.

Somehow the awkward word vomit still comes up. "Did you know that the saying 'it went down the wrong pipe' is actually incorrect? You've got a little flap over the top of your trachea called your epiglottis that covers the top when you swallow. That way when the muscles of the back of your throat contract and force the food into your esophagus, nothing goes into your windpipe." Harry rolls his head up to look at him. "And then when you 'choke', it means you have some trying to get past the epiglottis, but it never actually goes inside. If it did, it would just go straight to your lungs or get stuck there, and that would be bad. So your body has a natural response to cough air up and force the food into the esophagus. Ergo, it tried to go down the wrong pipe, but it didn't."

Harry's silent for a little while, and Louis' scared he's embarrassed himself. But then he just chuckles, nudging his leg with his thigh. "Epiglottis," he snickers.

Louis blushes, jutting his bottom lip out. "Sorry. Word vomit. Happens sometimes."

"How'd you get so good at science?"

"Uh, I don't know? I study. I memorize. I think I'm just kind of naturally pretty good at it. I've always found it easy - at least on the medical/biological side of science. Not physics though." He shivers at the thought. "Worst semester of my life."

Snorting, Harry raises his hand to card his falling bangs out of his eyes. It's only then that Louis notices he's wearing his hair down unlike normal, and he wonders if that's because of him that he's becoming more comfortable without it. He doesn't condone pressuring people to change for others, but if Harry wants to wear it down, who's he to tell him no. "I wouldn't even look at Physics as something I'd ever want to even spit at, never mind try it. And eighteen weeks of it? That sounds like hell."

"I'm not even going to fight you on that one."

Louis shrinks down into the couch, further comfy-ing himself into the cushions. His stepbrother protests a little at having his pillow move, but it doesn't seem to be much of a problem. He just drops his head back onto his shoulder so that it appears it never even happened. Louis snorts, rolling his shoulder a bit.

"Cuddly much?"

"I warned you long ago about my addiction to cuddling. You should be used to it by now. If not, you're in for a rude awakening." Louis smiles, eyes rolling. He's not really surprised anymore. It's actually something he kind of looks forward to sometimes, but he'd never tell him that. "Especially since we've been sleeping in the same bed for the past couple of days."

"I know," Louis laughs. "I'll wake up with your entire body on me, and I swear to God, I've swallowed some of your hair. You're absolutely disgusting, you cuddle monster."

"Guilty as charged," he admits. "But don't lie. You love it."

"Why would I love inhaling your hair?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Giggling, Louis picks up the pillow next to him and hits his head with it. His hair falls into his face, and he clearly looks like he's trying to be mad, but his lips curl behind the curtain of curls. "Maybe you're cuddling me to death, you sadist."

Harry rakes the fuzzy dark hair from his face so that he can see him. "If that's your idea of sadistic is, I'd love to see your version of a horror movie."

"It's too horrifying to even talk about. I don't want to give you nightmares."

"About what?" He snickers. "Bunnies and rainbows? Maybe a giant, menacing teddy bear that threatens to cuddle you?"

Louis gasps, clutching his chest in mock fear. "Stop! You're scarring me! You're ruining my poor, good, old innocent soul with your darkness and evil. You dare call yourself human?"

With a flash of his dimples and the crinkles at his eyes, Harry pounces at him. Louis squeals as his entire body flops on top of him, squishing him back against the cushions. Then his large hand snags both his wrists and traps them against his stomach. "You're right," he growls lowly, so deep and, quite honestly, attractive that Louis' eyes widen. His face lowers. "I'm not human. Clearly I'm a demon sent to make your life hell." He might be succeeding, he thinks uncomfortably as he squirms. "And I'm going to...cuddle and tickle you until you smother to death."

Louis swallows. "Wait. Tickling?"

Long fingers suddenly dance across his warm stomach, and he spasms, cursing. "Shit, no!" He chokes between his obnoxious laughter. "Stop! Fuck! Stop! I can't breathe..."

Pleased with the reaction, Harry sits back on his calves and watches innocently as Louis recovers from his high. He wheezes, his face burning up beyond belief and his stomach still twitching. God, he fucking hates being tickled. It's the worst feeling ever. It's like he has absolutely no control of his body, and he literally just flops around like a fish out of water. Something on his face must've told him he was unamused because Harry pouts, and, goddamn, why is it so cute?

"You're so lucky I didn't deck you in the face."

Harry frowns, fixing his shirt and smoothing it out for him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset." Louis just sighs. Pursing his lips, Harry pats his stomach to which he has a lot less aversion. "Nice abs, by the way."

"Don't look at them," Louis pretend snarls, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "You don't deserve my abs."

"Probably not, but I'm not going to apologize for it." Wait. What? Grinning as a way of avoiding further interrogation, he flops back on him. "I can't recall you saying anything about your aversion to cuddling though."

"Dammit," he mutters.

"Heyyy," Harry whines. "You said you love it."

"I think you're hearing things. Are there ghosts in this cabin? Wait. I think I hear one. It's saying..." Louis leans closer to Harry, cupping his ear. Then when he's within a good range, Louis barks in his ear. "Bullshit!"

"Ow! God, Louis. You trying to make my ear bleed?"

"That would make me very happy."

"Jesus," Harry chuckles. "I think you are the sadist."

Having finally settled down, Louis feels a bit of fatigue run through him. It seems like no matter how much he goes to sleep here, he's always exhausted. It's such a strange phenomenon because he's actually getting decent hours of it. Yawning, he stretches out along the couch, kicking Harry in the process and earning a dirty glare. "What if you really were a demon from hell? I would never know."

"It would explain a lot," Harry confesses, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. "I wouldn't be shocked."

After a couple seconds of feeling Harry's back pressed against his shins and the flames licking only one side of his body, he groans. "Come here, you dork. I'm cold."

Smiling, he climbs down and settles next to his side. He's immediately swarmed by warmth, and his nostrils twitch with his strong scent. Louis makes sure to tell him once more that he has an obsession, but Harry always just replies that he knows and that he doesn't care because he has no humility when it comes to cuddling. And, yeah, Louis can believe that. Would probably be embarrassed about the fact they're practically attached at the hip if it weren't for the fact that he's bored out of his mind and he spent all this time building a fire. He doesn't plan on moving until it dies again. 

Harry ends up falling asleep on him that afternoon - a bit of drool slipping from his peacefully parted lips, and he doesn't mind. After all, Harry's still kind of really gorgeous.

*********

The rest of the week goes by lightning fast. They spend a good amount of it exploring the great outdoors. Which, usually, would make Louis cringe and throw up a little in his mouth, but it was actually quite relaxing. When they weren't down by the lake, he was right beside Harry on the couch, and he can say that he's never felt this complete in a long time. Not since his mother died way back when, and before he knows it, it's the morning they have to leave. He could even say he's a bit disappointed to go back. Even Harry seems to be a little down today, and he follows him around a bit like a lost puppy, joining in on whatever he feels like doing. But he quickly stops when he realizes that he is, and smiles bashfully, claiming to be bored.

"You want to go on a run?" Louis finally suggests, after receiving no interest from their parents about playing a game. And his dad absolutely abhors running, so he's not even going to ask him if he wants to. "Coach said we had to exercise at least twice." 

"Does horse riding count?"

"Maybe? I don't know. I think I'm going to. My legs are itching to do something. Do you want to go or not?" 

"You're really going to ask me that?" Harry slurs, amused. "I've been shadowing you all day."

"It's nice to ask," he argues.

After changing and a few peeks from Harry that has Louis throwing his shoe at him and Harry giggling, they grab water bottles and head down by the creek. It's bubbly and small, the rocks making the water gurgle and spit. And it runs along the trail for a good while before branching off to run deeper into the brush. Following the split, their heavy breathing and the crunch of their tennis shoes on the gravel take over the chirping of the birds. Louis thinks it beats any kind of music he could listen to through his headphones.

An arm stops him suddenly, hitting him in the stomach and slightly knocking his breath away. "What the hell - Harry -" 

"Look." Harry raises his finger and points into the trees, yanking him down at the same time as if to tell him to get low. He bends his knees a little, looking around to see a fawn at the edge of the trail. It's large ears flicker back and forth, its tiny head swiveling towards them. Louis tightens his grip on Harry's shirt, holding his breath.

Despite their efforts, the deer spooks and bounds ungracefully away, it's long legs scrambling across the rocks. Louis smiles, cooing. "Cute."

Bending around the last curve of the trail, their cabin comes into sight in the distance and they slow involuntarily as if trying to bide their time. A small trickle of sweat run down his neck, and he sighs heavily, taking in the fresh air. "God, it's so beautiful out here. Don't you think?"

When Harry doesn't reply right away, he glances over to see if he even heard, but his eyes are trained intently on him. "Yeah..." 

Louis frowns at the strangeness to his tone. The sliding door to the back of their cabin slides open, and his dad comes out, waving his phone from the top of the deck when he sees them coming. He yells something out to him, but it's inaudible.

"What?!"

"Jake texted you!"

Sprinting ahead, he leaves Harry behind and mounts the wooden steps to where his dad is gripping his phone. "He did? About what?" 

"I didn't read it. It just kept vibrating. It was driving me insane. I was about to take a hammer to it."

Harry scowls on his way past, bumping into his shoulder and walking to their room. Oh, he didn't push him that hard. It turns out to just be a simple text asking if he wants to meet again when he gets back, and they make plans for tomorrow afternoon to see a movie since he's going to be piss tired when they get home tonight. 

Niall calls him in the middle of his text session, lighting up his screen, and he smiles. "Hey, Ni."

"Lou!" He screams. Louis grunts and olds the phone away from his ear, wincing. "Goddamn, Niall. Make me burst an eardrum, why don't you?" 

"Sorry not sorry. Anyways..." Theres a faint disruption of rustling and voices behind him. "You're getting home tonight, right?" 

"Yes." 

"My parents are going to throw together that homework burning fire tonight. Well, technically, it's a neighborhood bonfire, but they told me to invite your family, and I can't turn down a flame. It's calling to me, Louis." 

Louis laughs. "Yeah, sure. Sounds fun. I'll ask." 

"Oh thank god! I thought I was going to be the only child. My neighborhood is crawling with elderlies. And the last time I got whacked with a cane for stealing some old lady's burger. Would not like a repeat of that, thank you." Chuckling, he makes a kissy sound. "Bye, Lou. See ya tonight."

He rolls his eyes. "Bye, Niall." 

With a sigh, Louis hangs up and goes into their bedroom. Harry's already ripping things from their hangers in the closet, his bag halfway packed. He grabs his own suitcase from beside the dresser and places it on the bed across from him. "How would you feel about doing something tonight?" 

Harry looks up from where he's folding his clothes. "What? Like a movie or something?" 

"No, Niall's family is having a bonfire, and he asked if we wanted to come."

He shrugs. "I don't see why not." 

Louis was expecting a more enthusiastic response, but at least he didn't outright reject it. He knows Niall would not mind if he brought Harry along, and I think he'd be very impressed by the improvement in their relationship they made since they left. He knows he is. Never in a million years would he think he'd actually be best friends with his stepbrother, but now it feels weird to think about it the other way around.

They both zip up their suitcases at the same time, and Louis giggles. "We're so in sync." 

Harry smiles. "Nah, I don't like boy bands." 

Louis shoves him with a roll of his eyes, and Harry pouts, holding his shoulder. That was horrible. Awful. "Ow," he says in a childish voice. 

"You deserved that." 

Smirk growing on his lips, Harry picks him up around the waist and throws him over his shoulder as he walks into the kitchen. He gets a face full of back, and his ears feel hot as the blood starts rushing to his head. Worming in his hold, he kicks his knee. "Harry Edward Styles! Put me down!" 

His fury is short lived though as they both break out into laughs, obnoxiously loud and bouncing down the corridor. But then Harry yanks him down so that he slides down against his chest and he covers his mouth with a warm, slightly calloused hand. "Sh." 

Louis makes a noise of protest, wondering what his game is but follows his blank expression to the couch. And then he tenses.

The hand over his lips slowly drops as they stare, flabbergasted. His brain feels numb, he's too shocked. The pulsing of Harry's heart against his shoulder and his fingers gripping his waist are the only thing he can feel as the air seems to get too thick to breathe. But really how could someone expect him to breathe when he sees his dad on his knee in front of Harry's mum. 

It should be cute. It should be heartwarming to see his dad falling in love again, but Louis just stares at the ring, feeling tears spring to his eyes. Because, no. That's his mum's ring. The one he had hidden in his room. He can't use that one. No. He promised. 

Louis hears a swallow by his ear, Harry's tattooed arm constricting around his chest tighter. And hot breath hits his neck as Harry dips down to look at him. "Hey, it's okay. What's wrong?" 

"He said he wouldn't replace her."

"Who?" His mum is wearing her ring. Louis told him that he wanted to keep it. It's the only memory he has of her. And he just...took it from him. He sags a bit, sobbing. "Oh, Boo. No, don't cry." Harry looks wounded, as if he thinks Louis is crying because he doesn't want to be his stepbrother. "It's okay." 

Louis turns in his arms and clings to him, fingers twisting in his shirt. Can't even care that they both smell a little sweaty. "I-I'm sorry." 

"What are you sorry for?" 

He calms at the way his nails softly glide up by back, goosebumps creeping across his skin. The spasms that rack his chest aren't as violent, and he can focus on just breathing shallowly. He wipes at his eyes, leaning his temple against his collarbone. "I didn't mean to cry." Harry's hand halts its movements on his back, and his chest heaves once sharply. 

"Is it because of me?" He asks, voice distraught, and his grip on him inhuman. "Do you...not want to be my stepbrother or something?" 

"No. Not you." 

Lips accidentally brush his cheek when Harry tries to say something, and he can tell it's an accident because they both flinch like they'd been shocked. Ignoring that little incident, his large hands slip under Louis' thighs, forcing him to jump up and wrap his legs around so he can carry him back to their bedroom. It would freak him out if he wasn't already coming apart at the seams. And before he knows it, his back is being laid on the bed. Then he moves the cases off the bed and reclines next to him. 

"Tell me," he says softly. It's the kind of purr in his voice that makes him break. The way it vibrates next to his ear is enough to send shudders up and down his body, and his limbs totally relax, as if in submission.

"It's my mum." 

"My mum?" He asks, confused. 

"No, my mum. The one that died." 

"Oh." 

Louis rubs at his red eyes, wondering when it suddenly became so natural to spew out everything he's been holding inside all these years. Harry rolls over to the dresser before he starts and grabs the box of tissues, handing them over. "Thanks," he whispers. "I-It's just...I told my dad I didn't want him to make it feel like we're replacing her when he started dating your mum. Mostly just because I missed her still. A lot. And we made a promise that we'd always have a special place to remember her because we didn't think someone like her should be forgotten, you know. She was our everything. And that ring was just kind of it. And, I guess, when I saw my mum's ring on Anne's finger, I felt a little..." 

Harry purses his lips. "Betrayed?" 

"Yeah. A little sad. A little hurt. A little lost. I don't know." 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

He shakes his head, knowing the waterworks will come again if they talk further. Because talking creates memories. And memories bring on a happiness that pains him. "No. It'll just make it worse." 

"Okay." His stepbrother lays his hand over his cheek, wiping a tear. And he'll deny that he turned into the touch. "If you need to talk to me...I'm here to listen, alright? We're brothers now." 

Louis smiles weakly, hiccuping softly. "Don't forget best friends." 

"Of course." 

He takes a shaky breath, heart beating so loud, it's all he can hear in his ear. With the small amount of courage he still has, he shifts to hug Harry around his middle. "Sometimes I'm kind of glad she's gone though because I never would've met you otherwise. And I like you. I really, really like you."


	28. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get back home. Louis has another date with Jake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are still parts of this story that make me cringe, but overall I’m proud of the story. It makes me happy to have the chance to read it all over again.

The ride home is just as long, tedious, and exhausting as he expected it would be. His eyes feel like they're going to fall out of his head, it's pounding that badly, and what's worse is that he's always known that he can't fall asleep in moving vehicles. He can close his eyes and pray to be dragged into a light sleep, but every time he comes close, his head snaps back up and he groans. Harry fell asleep a while ago, his eyelids fluttering peacefully and his body slumped in the most awkward position with the seatbelt. Louis envies him for being able to sleep like that.

The car seat vibrates along with the bumps in the road, and the seat belt leaves harsh red marks on his skin. His mouth tastes sour, his cheek warm from where he'd been resting it against the seat, and his thoughts swarm his head like bees. He can see their parents' linked hands over the console, his step mum's ring sparkling, and he can't help but wonder why they didn't even bother to tell them. It seems like they've been trying to keep it a secret, Harry's mum slipping her hands into gloves before they left, but now he can see they're placed in her lap and she seems quite content staring down at it and admiring it as if it's going to combust into flames and disappear just like that. Yet she said nothing.

His dad didn't even tell him, and they tell each other everything. At least they used to. It was him and Louis against the world, but now...now he's starting to think he's not his number one priority anymore, and, honestly, he's a bit bitter about it.

Then there's the fact that their dad makes them pick up a couple bags of chips on the way over. Just because it's the nice thing to do, and since we're the guests, it's the least we could do. Which, not really. Because knowing Niall's mum, she's made an entire buffet of food for the occasion. And he definitely thinks all of those elderly people who will be there will appreciate the bits of chips in their dentures.

Harry only jolts awake when they're about a block from Niall's, his long body cracking as he stretches out next to him. He looks blissful, his expression sleepy and his lips turned up in a lazy way. Louis just feels beat. From everything.

"How long have you and Niall been friends, Louis?" 

He wants to moan and just ignore her, but he figures that'd be rude, so he tries to rack his mess of a brain. It physically hurts, and he reaches up to rub his head. "Since the beginning of high school."

"I haven't heard much about him. Maybe you can tell me a little bit about him or his family. He plays football as well, correct? What position does he play?"

"One of them."

Harry snorts, but he's too tired to care, his head already starting to fall against the window again. "Oh, well...surely you have some things you like to do together?"

"Mum, leave him be. He's exhausted."

"Well...alright. But I insist on meeting this boy. If he's Louis' friend, he's a part of the family." Louis cringes.

They pull into his driveway, the bright porch lights making his brain hurt. Hopefully this thing will be quick so he can go home, crawl into bed, and just disappear. That'd be nice. And god help those who might try to wake him up before ten. Harry steps from the car, wrapping his bandana round his curls and sending Louis a flashy grin as he moves to stand behind him. His dad rings the bell, and, for whatever reason, he feels a slight pressure on the small on his back. As if whoever it is is scared he's going to tumble backwards.

Footsteps rush from inside, the lock making a click as it turns, and then the door swings open to reveal Niall. "Louis! You made it!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

Their parents thank Niall for the invitation, and Harry's mum makes far too many comments about how lovely their home is, but he stuffs a sock in his mouth. It's whatever. He's cranky and he's tired, and he's slightly pissed for no particular reason. Other than for the betrayal of his father. They step inside and soon it's just Harry, Niall, and Louis. There's a brief awkward pause where Niall looks between them, but then Harry squirms and clears his throat.

"Do you have a restroom?" 

"No, we pee in the yard." 

"Niall, be nice." 

"Well if he's going to ask a stupid question -" 

Louis interrupts him. "Down the hall to the left." Harry smiles at him, dragging his hand away from the small of his back and staring down at the Irish boy as he passes. Niall doesn't even blink. He wonders what the hell they were communicating with their eyes because it looked like something. "I bring food." 

"Well, why didn't you say so! Come on in." 

Niall snatches the bag from his arms, already tearing into it as they enter the kitchen and sets them down next to some other oeuvres. Louis sees a cooler in the corner and he immediately reaches for it. He kicks it open and searches for a soda. Thankfully he finds some highly caffeinated ones so that he can actually stay awake for a bit longer. There's some beer in there also for the adults, but if he sees Niall thieve one, he'll pretend he didn't. 

Harry grabs one when he comes back from the loo, and Louis' jaw clenches but says nothing. It's not as bad as he thought though. After leaving the kitchen and heading outside, he makes no move to go back inside and grab another one. Just nurses the one he has, and he thinks that's not so bad. But when he's done, he steals sips from Louis' soda. And he gives him a look.

"Get your own." 

Harry thumps his forehead but gets up to get one, and Louis smiles at his hands. Harry looks a hell of a lot better than a week ago - there's no longer dark circles under his eyes and he blinks lazily into the flames. It's nice to see him adjusting so easily.

The three of them hang around the fire where not as many people are at, and they just talk. They talk about school, football, anything really they can think of, and he's actually having a good time. The look Harry gave Niall early is long since forgotten as they joke around easily and Niall's loud laugh fills the air. Harry's shoulder is pressed against his and every time he moves, Louis gets a small shock. It's not unpleasant, just different. And he wishes he knew what that meant.

Eventually the conversation escalates into some sort of competition. Niall and Harry argue over who could pick up the most old ladies, and Louis rolls his eyes. Why would that even be something to brag about?

"I've got dimples. Old people love dimples. They think they're charming and youthful. I could totally pick up an old lady if I wanted to."

"Well, I've got an exotic accent."

"Exotic, my arse."

"You do have a nice arse, I'll give you that one."

Louis laughs loudly, and Harry just makes a face of disgust, scooting further back in his seat. "You're horrible at arguing, Ni. Just admit it. You always end up complimenting someone."

Niall purses his lips. "No, nuh uh. This time I'm going to win." A devious smile breaks across his lips as if he's just had a revelation. "Styles, I dare you to kiss someone. For at least five seconds. On the lips. If you succeed, I'll give you -" He searches his pockets, pulling out a crumpled bill. "I'll give you this twenty dollar bill." 

Harry mulls it over, but his response is so immediate, it shocks Louis. "Deal."

Why is he arguing this so much? Why does he want to pick up an old lady so much? Is twenty bucks really worth it? He doesn't think so. He'll probably get whacked like Niall did last year. But who is he going to - oh.

There's a sudden pressure on Louis' lips, and his eyes widen comically. His long fingers reach for his neck, sending shivers down his spine, and his head turns into it. His lips are so soft, yet are a little rough from just being outside. And it's so much more prevalent when he's pressing hard instead of just pecking. Harry leans forward during it, and he swears his fingers tighten on the back of his head. They don't really move their lips, but when Louis goes lax in shock, he thinks Harry flicks his tongue across his bottom lip. There's cinnamon on his tongue again and a little bit of sugar from his pop, and it tastes really good. He whimpers a bit, and it surprises both of them. He has no idea why he made that noise. His cheeks flame when he pulls away, so embarrassed that he wants to go hide under a rock.

Niall's jaw is already dropped. Harry wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and plucks the money from Niall's limp hand with a grin. "Thanks, Horan." Winks and gets up to go somewhere else, but Louis can see him chewing his lip as he goes. Then there's silence.

"He kissed me." Niall doesn't say anything, and Louis reaches over and closes his jaw for him. He feels numb with awe. He doesn't know what to think right now. "He kissed me. Why the hell would he kiss me?" 

"Why the hell are you complaining? You got a kiss from your living wet dream. I just lost twenty bucks! I dared him to kiss an old hag, not you! The hell? I want my money back!" 

"Technically you just dared him to kiss someone on the lips for five seconds." 

"Whose side are you on?" 

Louis shrugs, finding it a bit more amusing than anything. It was clever. "You should've been more specific."

"Ugh, whatever," Niall groans. "I know I'm beat when my best mate doesn't even take me side. Plus, I have to admit. Even though I didn't mean for that to happen, it was pretty damn hot." He smirks. "He so likes you."

Sighing, Louis folds in on himself. "I'm seeing someone else, Niall."

Niall just snorts. "Yeah, like that's going to stop him."

"What does that mean?"

He cocks his head. "I'm going to let you figure that one out for yourself." Louis' lips part. He can't believe this. His best mate knows something, and he's not telling him. "Enough of this sweet crap. My teeth are going to rot faster than the old people here. Come help me with the fire. My mum put me in charge of it – I know, stupid, right? I have no fucking clue how to fuel a fire." 

"Niall, trust me. If anyone of us were to start a fire, it'd be you." 

"Not on purpose." 

Louis squats beside him, feeling a bit better about changing the subject as he trails his hands in the dirt for small twigs and dead grass. "These are for, like, a quick burst of flame and you just move it beneath one of the bigger logs. Assuming it's dry enough, it should catch after a while. Then just throw a branch in every once and a while. It's not too bad. Might need to tend to it a lot at first though. I can try and help if you need it."

Louis sighs once he's got it going, splaying his hands out in front of him, feeling the warmth seemingly soak into his bones while Niall pokes it with a long stick he found. "What exactly is the deal with you and Harry anyway? From a stepbrother kind of standpoint."

"I don't even know what's happening anymore. We were okay for a while, I guess. He's sweet and nice. Seems to like me now. We cuddle a lot." 

"What's the problem then?" 

"Nothing." 

"Bullshit. Come 'ere. Tell Uncle Ni." 

Louis sits beside him on the ground, taking off his jacket and laying it under his bum. "He proposed." 

"Who? Harry? Oh my god, I knew it!" Niall grabs his hand, looking it over. He frowns, tracing his bare ring finger, and Louis just blushes. "What? Are you going to pick one out later?" 

"No, you idiot. My dad." 

"Harry proposed to your dad? That's really weird, mate." 

That brings a smile to his face. "Shut up, you dork. You know what I mean." 

"Really though, Lou. That's great. I'm happy for you." He grabs his elbow, already starting to drag Louis up. Louis moans and refuses to budge. "Let's go find them. I want to congratulate them." 

"Aren't you supposed to be watching the fire?" 

"Psthh. It'll be fine." 

"Famous last words." 

Harry interrupts them, looking a bit abash as he tugs at his curls. "Louis, come sit with me. My mum wants to say something." His eyes dart to Niall, at the hand on his arm. "To . . . everyone." Niall quickly releases his grip at the dark expression, and Harry drops down, softening as he tries to draw him in and help him up. But Louis scoots away. He doesn't know what he's doing. He really doesn't, but he's starting to feel pressured, and he thinks he needs a break to just breathe. His stepbrother looks offended but doesn't say a peep, standing back up and sitting down in his spot.

He follows but claims a seat next to Niall instead. Somehow he's already got a bag of marshmallows in his hand, and Louis snags one. The blonde sticks his tongue out, attempting to appear angry, but really he lets Louis steal any amount of them he wants, and he grins.

Once everyone's gathered around, Harry's mum doesn't waste time in announcing their engagement, and Louis doesn't really pay attention, dragging his vans through the grass. To him, it's much more interesting. He's pretty sure he can feel Harry's eyes on him, but he just tucks in further to Niall, trying to hide.

The only time his head snaps up in interest is when she encourages Harry to sing. Niall's parents chirp about having a guitar, and Niall snorts from next to him, obviously knowing that it's his. And they hurry inside to grab it. It's only then that he chances a glance at Harry, and he's thankfully got his gaze set elsewhere. There's a faint pink on his cheeks as his mum brags about him to the people around.

His stepbrother smiles and taps his boot in the dirt, fingers lazily strumming the strings, and Louise admit he's good. Very good. But the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes until he starts singing. Then he closes them and his features soften. Louis turns his gaze back to the floor. His deep voice creates a nice, raspy tone, and Louis immediately recognizes the song as Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran. He can't help but wonder how long it took to memorize that whole thing. It's impressive. Why has he never asked Harry to sing for him?

He finally looks up when he's done, only to see those deep green eyes staring right at him. Louis feels queasy again, his lips tingling with the memory and his tongue darting out involuntarily to swipe over it. He pulls his jacket back over his shoulders, shivering and hugs himself.

Somehow he ends up falling asleep in a lawn chair and wakes up with a larger coat draped over him, Niall no longer beside him. It's not hard to guess immediately whose it is with a whiff. Louis detangles his legs from the armrest of the chair, his foot catching on the bar. Shrieking, he falls onto the ground, Harry's coat landing over his head. He sits up quickly with a grunt and pulls the collar down. No one saw thankfully. At least from what he can see. It's quite a bit chillier than we he fell asleep and he slides his arms in the sleeves, being dwarfed by the material. He tries to roll it up past his hands, but it just falls back down. Then he gets to his feet, brushing off the dirt with the sleeves.

The crowd has thinned to a few stragglers chatting and drinking beer. Niall is helping his parents pick up trash by the fire, and Louis' family is missing. They must be inside. Louis walks over to Niall's hunched figure.

"Thanks for inviting us, Ni. It was fun, but I'm gonna go before I pass out." 

Niall looks appalled, dropping his bag of trash. "We aren't done yet." 

"Huh?" 

Niall suddenly frowns and pinches the loose fabric of his forearm. "Whose coat is this?" 

"Harry's." 

He smirks. "Mhm. Damn right it is." Niall sticks up a finger. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

The boy disappears for not even ten seconds. Niall trots back down the porch with a folder and a giant stack of papers in his hands. A devilish grin sprouts, and he thrusts some at Louis. That's when he understands. "And so it starts." He tosses it in and starts dancing around the flames like an idiot. "Burn, bitch! Burn!" 

It reminds him a bit of that movie Castaway. "Where's Wilson when you need him?" Louis teases.

They burst into giggles. Louis rips up a few papers, chucking them into the flames and watching them turn black. It actually gives him a sense of relief. "God, that movie was ace. No one can beat Tom Hanks. Wilson was definitely my favorite character."

"He was a volleyball."

"He was a strong, silent type. I liked that."

Louis laughs, tossing the rest in and stepping back to admire before pecking his cheek. "I should really be going. Thanks, Ni. Have a good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Lou."

Harry's in the kitchen, head in his palm, eyelids dipping in exhaustion and boredom as he listens to our parents talk about something. It must be incredibly boring or he's just lost in thought. His back straightens when Louis opens the backdoor. His eyes focus on him, and he just stares. Louis doesn't know what to think. They've kissed before, but this one is different. It wasn't an accident. It wasn't spurred by drunkenness or a big screen. And it doesn't even feel like the reason he's upset. Maybe he's overreacting. 

"Dad, I'm going home." 

"By yourself?" 

"Yeah, it's fine. I'll just walk." 

"It's dark out, Louis," his dad argues. "You shouldn't be out by yourself." 

"It's okay. It's only a five block walk, and I have my cell phone. That way you guys can stay a little longer."

He feels unsettled with those dark green pools on him, scanning him, searching him, making his skin itch. "Alright. Just be safe." He's a bit surprised that he agreed, but he still hesitates at the door, glancing back. Harry's face lights up. He walks back, peeling off Harry's jacket and handing it to him. 

"Thanks. For lending it to me, I guess."

Harry hooks his finger into his jeans, tugging him closer and Louis' eyes widen. We whispers like it's some secret. "No, take it. You'll need it. It's not getting any warmer outside." Louis licks his lips and nods. The jacket gets stuffed back in his arms, and Harry reaches for his own jeans. He swallows as he looks down at his lap, Harry pulling the crumpled bill from his pocket. With no other comment, he stuffs it in Louis' jeans, a bit too close to his crotch. And his heart stumbles over itself. "Do you want me to come with you?" He asks quietly.

"N-No." 

Harry automatically lets him go, sitting back. Louis gulps, stepping around him so as to get his heart back on track. He quickly puts Harry's jacket back on and clears his throat. "I'll see you guys at home." 

"Be careful, Lou."

He's a bit lost when he opens their front door. The past week has been spent always with someone else - never alone, and he thought that's what he wanted. To be left to his thoughts, but it's oddly unsettling how quiet and dark the house is. It almost feels like arriving at a hotel. It's strange. He feels like he's rediscovering it for a bit, breathing in the sweet aroma as he smiles and drifts upstairs. But eventually it fades. He's always loved coming home after spending some time away. Warmth and comfort seeps into his bones the minute he steps into his bedroom. He tosses his suitcase on the ground and crawls into bed. He's absolutely knackered.

The sheets feel refreshingly cool but foreign and unused. And it's so nice that he can't find it in himself to change out of what he's wearing or unpack his case. He just lets his body falls without protest.

A soft touch startles him out of his sleep. His eyes fly open, back twitching in fear as he tries to make out what the hell just touched him. But then he sees Harry's silhouette in the dark, and he relaxes. He can't tell what time it is without his glasses, but it's most certainly not ten. "Lou, are you awake?"

"I am now," he growls.

"Are you mad at me?" 

His fingers tremble on his shoulder, and Louis' trying to figure out if he's cold or saddened. He closes his eyes again. "I don't bloody know," he mumbles into the pillow. 

"Answer me. Please." 

"Can't we talk about this in the morning? I can barely keep my eyes open, Harry." Louis' tone is dismissive and a bit cool, but he doesn't leave. 

The soft breathing continues. "I can't fall asleep." 

"Neither can I," he grumbles. "What do you want, Harry?" 

"I want you to answer me." 

"I'll answer you in the morning." 

Harry crawls in beside him, his whole body is quaking. Louis frowns a bit. He slides a large hand under his shirt to rest against his stomach. A shiver runs down Louis' spine. Weird. He doesn't seem like he'd be freezing - his hand is burning. The coat Louis is still wearing rustles softly between them, obvious, but Harry doesn't say anything. He tucks his nose under his jaw, filling the air with his scent. Louis doesn't push him away, leaning back against his chest instead. His bare chest steadily rises and falls to match his, and the shaking ceases. 

"Boo, tell me you're not mad at me. Please. Just tell me, and I'll leave you alone. I'll go back to my room if you want me to. O-Obviously, I'd rather not. But if you want me to -" 

Louis' a bit confused but too tired to question him. "I'm not mad at you." 

His fingers dance over his faint muscles, and his stomach curls. Louis pulls his hand off, feeling uncomfortable. There's a hitch in his breath, but he just links their fingers higher up, holding them to his chest and hopes he can't feel how his heart is beating like a rabbit's. "I really am sorry, Lou. I just - he made the dare so vague. It was too easy. If I had to choose between kissing you and some old lady, I'd obviously choose you." His mouth twitches against his skin. "Your lips aren't wrinkly." 

Louis snorts. "And here I actually thought that meant something." 

Harry plays with the zipper of his jacket, and Louis starts at the growl from his throat. "You smell like me." So quiet he misses it, voice low. 

"Pardon?" 

"Nothing." 

Louis lets it go. It seems most things have settled themselves out, and Harry's out in seconds, lips fluttering against his neck as he dreams. He doesn't know why Harry keeps doing this. Brothers don't hold each other like this. He doesn't know much about actual siblings, but he knows that much, and frankly it has his head spinning. Even for best mates, it's a bit much. The way his fingers lazily drew on his hand before he fell asleep. How his insides always jump when they touch. Niall doesn't do that. Niall doesn't make him feel that way. It doesn't feel right. But at the same time, it doesn't feel wrong either. He wants to just hang out with him all night and watch movies. Just talk. And other times he kind of wants him to just grab him by the waist and kiss him. That's what scares him. He's never had such an intense feeling to be around someone so much, had the craving to do something intimate with someone else. With his stepbrother, nonetheless.

And then there's Jake. He doesn't know what to do anymore. Niall always seems to think Harry has a thing for him too, but that would mean there's two boys grappling for him, and that's ridiculous. How does someone go from never even having a date with someone to this? It just doesn't seem likely.

He's just dozing off when he hears a buzz. His phone lights up on his bedside table, illuminating the room. He reaches for it, feeling Harry stir behind him as he shifts away. The hand in his tightens. Louis swallows, sneaking a peak at it. The light flashes across Harry's face briefly, and his face scrunches adorably, eyelids twitching. Shit. He fumbles to turn the brightness down, cringing. 

It's Jake asking if he made it home alright. How the trip was. If they're still on for tomorrow. And it's so sweet, Louis feels pleased that he's so concerned as to actually contact him. 

It was really fun thanks. And we're definitely still on for tomorrow. 

You're still awake? It's late. I honestly wasn't expecting an answer till morning.

Yeah

You should be in bed, love x get that beauty sleep. 

Louis blushes. I am. Just not asleep yet. Why are you up? 

Law school is awful. That's all I have to say. Lots of long nights and coffee. But I guess I'm used to it. 

Harry tugs on his hand as he tosses, groaning. Louis lets their hands slip so he can have both hands. Studying or for other reasons? Wait, did he just fucking flirt? He bites his lip, a groan building in the back of his throat. He's going to think you're an idiot now. 

;) Studying

for now 

Louis' pleasantly surprised that he took it lightly. Don't think you'll get so lucky. 

We'll see what happens after our date, babe. 

He rolls his eyes but he's smiling a bit. I'll see you tomorrow :) 

Goodnight, Louis. 

"Lou?" He asks in that raspy, sexy, groggy voice he has. He swallows, fingers lazily finding their way back against his stomach. 

"What?" 

"Who're you texting?" 

"No one. I was just checking twitter." Louis has no idea why he lied. 

"Mm." 

He sets his phone down, feeling a bit bad when he feels his arm snake tighter and a brush of his lips on his cheek in away he can't tell is an accident or not. Snuggling down, Harry's knuckles brush his cheek and finally his breaths even out. Maybe he doesn't have to know.

*********

Louis wakes up with Harry on him. His head is on his chest, leg thrown over his hip and his fingers are gripping the edge of his shirt. Not even shocked anymore. He slips from underneath him, watching him seek him with the tips of his fingers, moaning before just falling limply back onto the mattress, lips parting. He's a bit sticky and warm from the body heat of another person and a coat so he peels the heavy jacket off and lays it over the edge of his bed. Louis pulls out some sweatpants from his closet and a fresh shirt, changing and slipping them on before going downstairs. 

Their parents are cooking breakfast in the kitchen, looking about as exhausted as he feels. Harry's mum is the first to notice him. "Morning, Louis." 

"Hey, Anne." 

"Would you like something to drink? Your dad is making waffles and bacon, if you're hungry." 

"Orange juice is fine." 

Louis snatches a plate from the center and globs butter onto his waffle and drenches it in syrup. It's kind of a really horrible breakfast since they have their final game later today but whatever. He'll run it off. Anne sets a glass of juice in front of him, and he smiles gratefully.

Harry slumps down the stairs, curls plastered to one side of his face and his eyes squinty. "Morning." 

Their parents look between them, eyes calculating. Louis realizes his mistake, but can't find himself to care. Harry's bedroom is downstairs. "You slept with Louis again?" Harry just shrugs. He scrapes the chair back and serves himself food then smirks at Louis. "I'm surprised at how well you guys are getting on. It's kind of astonishing really. I love seeing you guys actually get along." She shares a look with his dad, and there's something in his expression when he looks at Louis that makes his stomach turn. 

Harry stuffs down his food. He barely looks like he chews, he's so quick, and then he's up and placing his plate in the sink. Louis follows his green eyes to the ring on his mum's finger. "So, were you actually planning on telling us that you proposed to my mum?" 

Louis looks down at his plate, picking at the remaining food. It looks wrong on her finger. He has absolutely nothing against Anne. No, he adores her, thinks she's good for his dad, but why did he give her that ring? Harry leans down over the chair, wrapping his arms loosely around his neck so they're just resting on his shoulders, making him jump a little. "Eat, love." He whispers in his ear then steps back and sits back down in the creaky chair. Harry raises his eyebrows. Louis blushes and takes a bite. 

"I was going to when we got home, but the bonfire was as good a place as any. It saved us the struggle of telling multiple people separately. Sorry, I wasn't aware of the fact that you guys wanted to be told privately." 

"We didn't." Harry looks at him. "I-I mean, it's fine. Really. It's no big deal." Louis chucks his plate in the sink beside Harry's and kisses his dad, who's completely oblivious, on the cheek. "Thanks for breakfast, papa." 

"What are you doing today, bug?" 

"Um -" His mind can't help but wander to his date later. He chews his nail. "I think I'm just going to call Niall up and chill with him for a bit. I don't know."

"Alright. Do you know how long you'll be out?" 

"Probably three– four hours. We're watching a movie." 

"Okay, be safe. And take your coat."

"Kay." Louis races upstairs and takes a long shower, feeling the water soothe his nerves a bit. When done, he wraps a towel round his waist and checks his appearance in the mirror. Unsatisfied, he reaches for his razor and shaves off the faint stubble he hasn't bothered to touch and changes into something nicer than he usually wears. He finds something he hid in the back of his closet a while back, but now he thinks it's time to bring it out. He slips on the jean jacket, ripping the tag off with his teeth then spritzes himself with cologne. He stares at himself in the mirror, fluffing up his hair more and taking a deep breath. "You can do this. He's just a boy. He's just a cute, really nice boy. You've got nothing to worry about." 

He leans closer, running his hand over his newly shaved chin and sighs. "Yeah right." 

A soft knock on his door startles him. Harry shifts his weight against the doorstep, eyes locked firmly on his. "Hey." 

"Hi?" 

"Niall's, huh?" 

"That's where I usually go." 

"Um, can we talk?" He thumps his finger on the wood, looking uneasy. "About last night?" 

Louis freezes then shakes his head. "Not right now. I have to leave. We can talk later." 

"Is that a new jacket?" 

"Yeah – well, no. I got it a few months ago." He drops his gaze and searches the floor for his vans. 

"Why haven't you worn it before?" 

"Uh, well, I saw it, and I guess I wanted to try something different today. It was a spur of the moment type thing, you know." His voice deepens, becoming drowned out as he ducks his head under his bed. He spots black and white. Jackpot. Dragging them out, he looks over his shoulder to see if he's still there. He is. Harry's eyes slowly roll up from where they were focused on his . . . oh. 

"You look nice." 

Louis flushes, heart seemingly squeezing his chest. He so likes you.

The door bell rings. "Oh, that's probably him." Louis walks past him, checking his appearance once more in a picture frame in the hallway, coaxing some pieces of hair back into place. He really looks everywhere except for directly at Harry because he's scared to find out if Niall is right.

"Are you wearing cologne?" 

"A bit." 

"Why?" 

"Just something different," he says slowly, cautiously stepping away as to not draw suspicion. He nearly groans when he sees it's spitting outside. Of course. "Alright. Well, I'm off. I'll see you later." 

"Okay." 

Louis runs down the driveway, pulling his jacket over his head to shield his hair. He spent way too long on it for the rain to just mess it up. There's a red truck parked in their driveway, looking tall and hard to climb into. He yanks open the door to the truck and meets Jake's sparkling gray eyes. "Hey, beautiful. Good to see you again." Louis smiles and takes his hand, letting him tug him inside. It's warm inside, smelling of the freshener he has clipped to the dash and the rain creates a nice quiet patter that soothes the nerves in his stomach. He feels small in the gigantic seat.

"Hello." He closes the door behind him. "So what movie are we going to see?"

"It's a surprise." 

"Oh, come on," Louis whines.

He tuts, smirking. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you." 

Louis giggles. "I certainly hope you're joking. Are we going out to the middle of the forest? Should I have checked the trunk for a shovel before I got in?"

"Probably. But this time you got lucky."

"Well, that would be something. First date with an ax murderer." 

Jake smiles, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as they roll to a stop at a red light. His face lights up, and he grabs his phone from the side console and hands it to him. "Oh! We've got a twenty minute drive yet. Listen to whatever you want. It's Bluetooth."

He grins, feeling confident already. Jake's not so scary. "Okay."


	29. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis wants to explore other opportunities, and Harry pretends to be okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck tax season. Honestly.

"Wait...you actually want to come? You'd do that?"

"Sure, I love football." Jake rolls down the window on his side, putting his arm on the sill so that the wind buffets his hair. "You're probably pretty decent if you're captain, huh? I admire a good leader."

Louis shrugs bashfully, not quite sure what to say. He can never tell if they don't like him so much because of his preference in dating or because of his lack of good leading skills. He doesn't think he's terrible. They've made it to the finals, after all. "I guess." Louis smiles a bit, following his example and rolling down his own window. He dips his fingers out, the air feeling like water flowing past. "I could introduce you to my best mate. He's really eager to meet you. Since you're my first date and all. He's really weird, but he's...fun. Kind of like a monkey."

"I'd love to meet him. What's his name?"

"Niall." Louis retracts his hand from outside. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me. Football is a pretty big part of my life, so this definitely earns you bonus points in my book. Anyone willing to give up their time to support me is worth it, I think."

Jake pulls into his driveway, shifting the gear so that the lock clicks. The corners of his mouth turn up. "You're very welcome."

Louis smiles, feeling his heart thump a little bit faster. There's a pause where Louis hesitates, hand on the door latch as he considers his options. It's not too early, is it? He thinks a quick fuck it and leans across the console to kiss his cheek. The roughness of his beard is a lot different than Harry's smooth skin. "Thank you for everything. I expect to see you at my game though. I'm going to look in the stands for you."

"I'll be there." His eyes suddenly widen. "Oh, shit. Wait." Louis pauses before he can close the door, looking up at him. "I have a seminar tonight." 

His stomach churns in disappointment. He looks down at the cement, wishing this wasn't such a big deal. Jake's going to be a lawyer; he's in law school. He should've expected he wouldn't have a lot of free time to go to his silly high school football game. "O-Oh. Okay. It's cool, I guess. Maybe next time."

"No, Louis. It ends at eight. I'll try to make the second half, alright? I don't want you to think I'm not trying."

Louis can't say he's not still a little crestfallen because he didn't promise, but it's nice to think he'd try to be there. Even his tone sounds uncertain, a nervous frown on his face - like he doesn't believe he'll make it, but Louis shrugs it off. They've only been on two dates. "Yeah, okay." He clears his throat, stepping back with an awkward smile. "I'll see you later, I guess."

"I'm sorry. I'll be there. If not at halftime, at the end. We can go out to eat or something. Ice cream. A burger. Whatever you want."

He just nods. "Sure." It's not like it's his last high school game - to rival the best in the country. Without another word, he rips his eyes away from his soft, apologetic gray ones and shuts the door to his truck. His cheeks feel warm but not in it's usual way. Louis almost feels embarrassed that he had even asked. There's the sound of his name being called or maybe it's his imagination, but he pretends he doesn't hear it, grabbing his keys from his pocket.

A touch to his elbow startles him and he drops his keys, hand flying to rub his forehead. "Louis, look at me." He does, slowly. It's not even really Jake that he's mad at. How can he when he didn't even expect him to come in the first place? He's actually ridiculous, and he thinks Jake agrees by the look on his face. Fuck. He doesn't want to be the needy girlfriend. Damn, he's already messing up. "I'll be there, okay? I'll be there."

Louis sighs, picking up his keys. "No, I'm sorry. You have your seminar. Just go. It's fine." Jake steps forward to peck his lips, shocking him into a frozen state. His lips don't taste like cinnamon. So it's just Harry apparently. He keeps a tight grip on his keys. "Um."

Jake smiles sweetly, brushing his hand over his arm. "I'll see you at the game."

He steps off the porch, waving slightly before climbing in his truck. The windows roll up as he backs from the driveway, the lights that had been illuminating them before, gone. Louis bites his lip, lungs stuttering as he fumbles to open the door in the dark. And this time the heat on his cheeks is a blush.

*********

The thump of Harry's boot hitting the football is the only thing that echoes in the night sky. Lights gleam down on the field, the dew sparkling on the grass and the ball in a slow-motion, film like moment. It's a beautiful curve that slices the upper left corner, spinning back out after running along the back of the net, and Louis' already there. His heart seemingly stops, the roar of sound coming from the stands and their teammates all washing together in one blurry mush. He blames that spur of the moment joyous reaction for running up to Harry among the gathering of teammates, adrenaline pumping and jumps on him. His weight accidentally knocks him over, Louis sprawling across his chest.

"We won," Louis breathes, lips parting. "We fucking won, Harry! We're the best in the country! I can't believe this. I think I'm going to hyperventilate. Oh shit."

Harry laughs, green eyes twinkling. "Breathe, Louis."

"I don't want to breathe. Shit. I don't even care if I die right now. This is the best thing that's ever happened to me." He grabs onto Harry's shoulders, shaking him so that his curls bounce. It's only then that he notices he's basically straddling him, and he quickly tries to sit up a bit, but his stepbrother's hands are wrapped around his biceps. They're so large, curling almost all the way around. Manhandle. Harry could definitely manhandle him. His knee accidentally brushes Harry's crotch when he shifts, and he jerks away, hoping he didn't hurt him or have him think it was intentional.

The grin on his soft lips morphs into something more serious. It makes his stomach flutter, and he momentarily forgets about the wetness of dew soaking into his shorts. His eyes disappear behind his eyelids, and he half shifts forward, half pulls Louis down so that their noses touch. Louis swears he forgets how to make his heart beat, his lungs burning the longer they stay in that position. His curly bangs brush his own forehead, and he doesn't know what the hell is happening. He can feel Harry's breath on his upper lip, and he's got goosebumps running down his back, his arms trembling a bit. Louis kind of like it, but he also kind of wants to vomit with nerves.

Then Harry softly moves his head back and forth so that their noses brush, and he absolutely melts. Is he seriously giving him an Eskimo kiss? Louis can't think to do anything except blush and giggle. It seems completely out of place - on the middle of a football field, but Harry smiles, hands still sturdy on his arms. Remembering where they are, he gets up, tugging Harry up with him.

"You're a bloody sap. I've never experienced nor seen something so cliché and revolting in my life. After a winning goal at Finals too. You disgust me."

Harry smiles, tucking an arm around his waist and hoisting him up into his arms, and Louis squeaks. His arms automatically wrap around his neck for stability, and he can't help but roll his eyes at his stepbrother's actions. "How's that for cliché?"

"How about I break your legs?"

Harry sets him down when the tips of his toes hit his football bag, leaning back with a grunt so that his spine cracks. Louis slaps him on the chest. He smirks triumphantly. "Fuck you. I'm not that heavy. If you did that to a woman, you'd be running for your life right about now. You're just lucky I'm in a good mood."

Their coach says a mere few words about how great of a season it was, how proud he is, that he'll look forward to seeing some of them next year. Louis feels his heart break a little when he hands over his assistant whistle. He's had so many memories these past three years even if he was sometimes given hell for it. The team gathers into a group huddle - more like a hug - and for once, he sees lots of beaming smiles and a sense of unity between them. They are brilliant football players, but their chemistry could use some work. After, they disperse across the field to grab their stuff, and it really hits him home. This is the last time he'll be seeing most of them.

Niall comes up behind him, smelling of grass and cologne as whispers in his ear. His arms drape around his waist. "Good job, Lou."

"You too, you little Irish munchkin."

"Hey, Tomlinson!"

Louis jumps a bit at the loud boom, his eyes instantly widening and his body stepping closer to Niall. He knows that voice. How could he not when it's been taunting in his ear for the past three years. Connor's long body stops in front of him, spurring Niall to tighten his grip on him, his blue eyes blazing. 

"Get lost, Schmidt. The season's over. We won. Be grateful."

The boy coughs awkwardly. "I am, actually." It sounds almost...soft, regretful. Louis cocks his head, pressing a finger to Niall's lips when he opens them to talk. He wants to hear what he has to say. "Look, Tomlinson. I may not agree with your sexuality, and I may not like you, but, dammit, I admire you. I know that I've given you shit over the years, and, as someone who respects you and will never see you again, Id like to apologize. You're a really fucking good captain. I'm sorry it took your brother beating the shit out of me to realize how much you've actually done for this team."

Louis frowns. "Oh, well. Thank you. That means a lot." 

Connor nods and pats his shoulder, the most affection he's ever given him. It's the closest he'll ever get to being accepted by him, and Louis sighs happily. He feels bubbly, free after hearing his confession. So they don't all hate him. That makes him feel a hell of a lot better. Maybe things are starting to change. Louis squirms out of Niall's grip and throws an arm over his shoulder so that they can make their way over to the bench. His eyes tear up a little as he realizes he's officially done. "So, what happens now, Ni?" 

"I don't know," he breathes. He seems to be a little bit in disbelief as well. "I'm going to miss you so much. You're going to be in London getting a fancy degree, and I'll be in Manchester. What am I going to do without you?" Louis squeezes his shoulders. "You'll write me, won't you?" 

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Niall beams, his eyes a bit pink from exhaustion. "It's still us against the world, Lou. Forever." 

Louis links his pinky with him, recalling their promise they made freshman year of high school. How could he possibly think he'd forget him? "Forever."

Casting his gaze across the field, his eyes lock onto his stepbrother's. It seems like they always seem to find his. Whether they mean to or not. Harry makes a heart with his hands, pumping it against his chest and smiling brightly at him. "Love you," he mouths. "You're my hero." Louis giggles.

"What's so funny?" Niall pokes. His eyes follow Louis' after they briefly flicked to the blonde, and he gags. "Get a room."

Louis flicks him before blowing Harry a kiss back. He catches it in his large hands before tossing it over his shoulder. Louis gapes. His heart shaped lips part in a laugh. He can't hear it from across the field, but he bets it's still glorious. He turns his hand to Harry and huffs, following Niall. 

His eyes then roam into the stands, surfing the crowd. Heart pounding in his chest, his gaze stumbles over caramel-colored, wavy hair, and he grins. "He's here." Louis can say he was pleasantly surprised when he'd said he'd come after their date. It wasn't that it was bad, he just expected him to want a break from him for a while since they're just starting out. But he doesn't know much about dating so he really doesn't know what's normal or not at this point. He's planning on just going with the flow. Maybe he can get advice from Harry. He had a boyfriend for a while. 

But he came. He promised, and he came. 

"Who's here?"

Jake follows the crowd down the steps, jumping down into the grass and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. A smile slowly creeps onto his face as he gets closer, his faint dimples showing. "You did great, love." Though he looks cheery, his voice is a bit bitter, and he tries to connect it in his head. Did he do something wrong? He doesn't think so.

Niall sticks his hand out immediately, eyes widening in realization. "You must be Jake! Oh, wow. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Niall. You've probably already been warned about me, but I'm going to talk to you anyway. He's told me a lot about you. Hi!"

Chuckling, Jake takes his hand. "Of course. All good things, I hope."

"Definitely," he slurs with a bit of a smirk, and Louis' face heats. His elbow jolts to hit him in the side, and he wheezes, clutching it. "I'll be over there."

Louis smiles innocently. "Good call."

Jake laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. Louis' eyes flit him up and down, not really noticing till now how he's a bit dressed up, his legs in khakis and a button-up over his torso. He really could pull off the whole lawyer look. He should be on one of those television dramas or something. "He seems nice."

"You would think that, wouldn't you?" He scoffs. "He's a right arse when he wants to be."

Jake leans around him, grabbing Louis' bag from the ground. And, really, how could he miss it? There's TOMLINSON sewn in big block letters across the side. He slips it over his shoulder, and shoots Louis a smile, making his body flush. He twirls his truck keys in his hand. "Are you ready to go? Do you want to get food or maybe just hang out? I'd have to take a shower, of course, but I'm sure my flat mate won't mind."

"Probably just some ice cream or something. I'm a bit knackered."

His arm goes around to lock with his at the elbow. "Whatever you'd like, my lady."

"Lou."

Louis twists his neck to look behind him, seeing Harry jogging up to them. His curls bounce a bit, and his eyes constantly flick between their arms and him, a purse to his lips. "What are you doing? Where are you going?" Louis feels daft.

"Oh, Jake! I forgot. This is my stepbrother, Harry. Harry, this is Jake." 

There's a beat of silence where they stare at each other. Harry's eyes flit him up and down, a disapproving frown to his brow. But then again it seems Jake is doing the same thing. It's really awkward - the tension creating a static in the air, and Louis deflates. Finally, Harry smiles – it's fake and strained but a smile nonetheless. "Ah, yes. The infamous Jake. Lovely to finally meet you." He sticks his hand out like Niall did. They shake, and Jake winces. He pulls back, holding his hand a bit. 

"You too." Harry's face is impassive. Jake coughs. "You want to go now, babe? It's getting a bit late." 

Louis slinks his hand into his, cheeks blushing. "Is this okay?" 

"It's perfect." 

Jake drags him along gently, not looking all too pleased. "Bye, Haz. Tell dad I'm going out with Jake." Shocked, he pretends he didn't hear Harry's muttered, angry curse and that he didn't see him kick his water bottle a good four feet as soon as they were far enough away then go pick it up.

*********

A drop of melted ice cream runs off his cone and onto his fingers, making his nose crinkle. He licks it up quickly, picking up a napkin to hold onto it with. "What are you talking about?"

Jake sighs, rubbing his forehead. "The one with the curly hair. He's your stepbrother, right?" Louis hums, not really paying attention. This treat is heavenly, and he has no idea where Jake is going with this conversation. "How long have you been 'siblings'?"

"Maybe a month, I'm not really sure."

"And you share a room?"

"We usually share a bed, yes."

"What's his sexuality?" He grills, eyes becoming more intense.

This is at that point in the conversation where Louis starts to feel uncomfortable. He frowns. "He's gay. Can we stop talking about Harry? I feel like you're more interested in him then you are me."

"No, this is important, Louis. We need to talk about this if we're ever going to be anything serious. You know that he likes you, right?" 

Louis' tongue freezes. "What?" 

Jake sighs, shaking his head like he thinks he's stupid. "It's so bloody obvious. He likes you, and I don't want to compete with him to have you. Because I'd lose. You know I'd lose." 

Louis feels his insides stop. His head spins, and he no longer cares that the cream is running down his arm. Harry likes me? Lose you? What? Compete? All he is able to comprehend is the way he says he feels like he's competing. It seems obvious what Jake means at that point. He whimpers. "You want me to choose?" 

"Me or him. You decide. I need to know now whether I'm going to be wasting my time chasing a lost cause." 

Louis sets down his ice cream, pain radiating from behind his eyebrow. They're not even really together. He's met his stepbrother for literally thirty seconds, and he just assumes that Louis is going to cheat on him or something. What kind of person does he think he is? Jesus. Louis wipes his sticky hands on a napkin and slides from the booth, eyes focused only on the trash can in front of him. He dumps the rest of it in the bin, breathing unsteady as he tries to understand what he's feeling. Disappointed? Angry? Probably both.

Jake follows him. "Louis, you get where I'm coming from, don't you? Your stepbrother is really attractive, and he's around you all the time. How could I not get jealous? How could I not think you might choose him over me? I just need to know if you're really willing to do this."

"Take me home," he orders shakily.

Swallowing, Jake nods and backs off. He grabs his coat from the back of the booth and places a hand on his lower back, trailing him outside. Louis just ignores it.

It's a really awkward and tense drive home. Jake appears upset, eyes darting over and lips parting every once in a while like he wants to say something - apologize maybe. But he doesn't. Then as soon as Jake parks it in his driveway, he's sliding from his seat, boots making a loud noise as he drops down onto the cement. He walks around to the back and drags his bag out of the car. "At least think about it, Louis? I really like you. I think this could last."

Hearing the pleading tone to his voice, Louis agrees after a long moment of hesitation. Jake unbuckles his seat belt and rolls down the passenger window. He climbs over the divider and leans out to peck his lips. His phone vibrates repeatedly in his pocket, but he takes a deep breath, staring up at him. "Yeah, okay." He rolls onto his toes and kisses him again before stepping away and twirling to make his way to his front door.

"Bye, Lou!" He calls, the music suddenly turning on as he backs from the driveway. 

Louis doesn't understand why he thinks Harry likes him. They're just close. They cuddle and, apparently, give each other eskimo kisses, and, sure, that looks like a coupley thing to do but they're just brothers. Harry wouldn't like him like that. He's too . . . perfect for someone like him. But that doesn't mean he wants to give up what they have. Harry's his second best friend, and he needs him as a brother. He doesn't want to choose. How do you choose between something like that?

Sighing, he roots in his pocket for his keys and his phone, unlocking the screen as he jiggles the knob. A notification tells him he'd received an email from London U about an upcoming visitation, and he opens it eagerly, stepping through the front door and dropping his bag. It's dark in the house, his fingers fumbling for a switch while simultaneously trying to make out the words on his phone. Arms reach out in the darkness, footsteps banging loudly as whoever it is skids to a stop, and Louis shrieks a bit when they wrap around him. The light clicks on, and he's smothered with cologne and shampoo. Harry smiles upon seeing his face.

"Jesus, Harry! You scared the shit out of me!" He slaps his chest, trying to step away, but his grip doesn't falter on him. He places his chin on his shoulder. That's weird. He isn't usually this eager to touch him. That doesn't mean he likes them though. "Yeesh. Did someone die? What's with the surprise attack?" 

Harry ignores him. "What's that?" He asks, referring to the email. 

"London wants me to go visit them this weekend." 

"Are you going to go?" 

"I probably should. I haven't actually seen the campus yet." 

Harry hums near his ear. "You should take me with you. I miss the big city." His voice sounds languid and warm, as if reminiscing. "I could show you all the places you want to go while you're there. It'll be fun."

"Okay," he answers automatically. But then he frowns a bit. Hopefully, Jake wouldn't mind them going together. Louis goes quiet, sighing. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." 

"It doesn't sound like nothing." 

A thumb brushes the skin of his neck, drawing some sounds from his throat as he writes patterns. It stirs his stomach, sending shocks down his spine. He presses his pulse point, and Louis sighs. He'd rather he did it with his tongue, and that's the part that makes him stiffen. Maybe Jake is right. Maybe he really can't control himself. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"N-No, not really."

Harry buries his nose in his hair before releasing him and leaving his head whirling. "Where did you go?" He asks nonchalantly, voice void of anything bitter, but he can see the curiosity blazing in his eyes. "With Jake, I mean."

Louis really doesn't want to have this conversation right now. "Just out for ice cream. No big deal."

"You guys were holding hands," Harry stares cautiously, as if picking his words carefully, and he sits down at the kitchen barstool where there's a half eaten sandwich. His fingers twist in his curly hair. "That seems like a pretty big deal." Louis shrugs. Harry bites his lip at the ongoing silence, taking his hand out of his hair to pick at his food instead. "Does he make you happy?"

"I guess." 

"Okay." 

"Okay?" 

"Yeah. Okay." Harry swallows, wiping the crumbs on his fingers on his sweatpants. Louis really can't tell what his stepbrother is thinking. He thinks Harry should play poker. He's good at that. "Did you eat then? You know, something besides ice cream?" Louis shakes his head, and Harry shoves his plate to him. "You should eat."

"I can't take your sandwich," Louis argues.

"It's fine. Really. Just eat it. I'm full." Louis scoffs, ignoring him and moving to the fridge to make his own. Harry's eyes crinkle in a soft smile, watching him move about. It makes his fingers tingle. "You're really high-maintenance."

"Not high-maintenance," Louis retorts. "Just sassy." His phone buzzes in his pocket again, and he sighs, holding the sandwich in his mouth while he digs it out. It's another email from the university saying that his visitation is confirmed and he tosses it back onto his bag. He takes a seat next to Harry, nudging his shoulder so that some meat falls from between the bread. Harry glares at him, but he just smiles. "So London...It's a lot bigger than here, yeah?"

"Very," he snorts, picking up the shred he dropped and placing it on his tongue.

Louis tries not to let that daunt him. "You'll help me navigate, right?"

Harry's eyes dart to him as if sensing his nervousness, or maybe his voice wobbled. He's not sure. But Harry sets his sandwich down, jaw still working. It must've been a big bite because he just goes in for a soft touch to his cheekbone and a nod. Louis feels his lungs purr a bit, his arms slinking around Harry's middle. His warm stomach hiccups in surprise. Jake. Right. Louis pulls back sharply before he can react, dragging his tongue over his lip.

"Thank you," he says quietly, picking up his plate and putting it in the sink.

It occurs to him that this might be something he'd lose if he picked Jake. Harry would be hurt – no, he'd be pissed if he picked Jake over him. He'd probably never want to speak to him again. And that makes him anxious. It makes this decision five times harder. Possible boyfriend...stepbrother. Louis wonders if he can soften the blow if that's the decision he ended up making if Harry was dating someone also.

"Maybe we can find someone for you," Louis suddenly blurts. He thinks it's the wrong thing to say. There's just silence in response, and, yup, that must've been the wrong thing to say. Shit. 

But then he just shakes his head, voice rough. "No . . . no. I don't want – I don't think I'm ready for something like that." Louis feels a bit relieved.

"So the single life then?" 

"Single and not so ready to mingle. A bachelor just drifting through." 

Louis smiles, humored. "That actually sounds kind of fun. We could've drifted through life together. You could've showed me the ropes of picking up men and we could've gone on adventures and went to bars and all that. That sounds badass. It almost makes me envious." 

"We still can," he suggests lowly, eyes downcast. But there's that small problem that he is well aware Harry is more than willing to get rid of for him, and Louis sighs. Despite the way his stomach shudders with the idea of him using that voice in other circumstances. "Harry." 

He pulls it back like he was burned. "Sorry." 

"You don't like him," Louis accuses. "Why? He's nice."

"A little too nice."

Louis rolls his eyes. "So, tell me, Harry. If he's not good enough, then who will? You want me to find someone rude and obnoxious? Or maybe someone who will drag me around and make fun of me? Would that be okay?"

"That's not what I meant," he quips readily.

"Then what did you mean?" His stomach contracts as Harry opens and closes his mouth a few times, awaiting an answer. For some reason, he's expecting him to say it - to confirm what Jake said. And he thinks he gets a little high off the idea, but Harry avoids the question entirely.

Harry licks his lips, dragging himself to sit on the counter so he's even taller. Louis doesn't like this new position. He feels trapped. "What if we . . . you know, went to one thing. One exciting new thing together, and you can bring Jake, and you don't have to drink – but I'll be included . . . And I can be there if you need me to. Just out of the way but, like, an option. I can get to know him a bit." 

He frowns. He can't know that Jake wants to choose, can he? No, he can't loose him yet. He still needs time. "An option? That makes it sound like you want me to choose. I'm not going to choose Harry. I don't want to do that."

"A supporting figure then." 

"I think that depends on your suggestion." 

His lips curl. "Karaoke." 

"Definitely not." 

"Why not?" Harry complains, kicking his feet back and forth. He looks like a giant, what with the way he has to completely tilt his head up to meet his eyes. "It'll be fun." 

"I think your definition of fun and mine are a little bit different." 

"Come on, Lou. Toxic does awesome karaoke. I did it that night you picked me up. Spotlights and a stage. It's so worth the drive." 

It's about time they did something Harry wanted to do, he guesses. And he never said he had to sing and totally humiliate himself, so maybe he has a loophole. He really has been mostly accommodating about this whole thing. He's trying – if only because he asked him to, and maybe Louis can make a sacrifice for him this time. "Yeah, okay. Let's do it." Harry's grin widens.


End file.
